


Early Summer

by valleyofthewind



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Meetings, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Musicians, Mutual Pining, i'm a slut for jazz elitist soonyoung in yet another fic, ish, read DISCLAIMER in notes for more!, story based on one of my favourite films ever: whisper of the heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 02:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13157298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valleyofthewind/pseuds/valleyofthewind
Summary: “The closest I’ve come to romance this summer is being called faggot on Xbox live,” he says, going for another slice of watermelon.in which soonyoung and wonwoo feel like they're wasting their summer in their rooms being hopeless virgins, so they go to the library. that's when soonyoung runs into seokmin – whose current only occupation is trying to write something good enough to win a competition – and decides that, this summer, he's going to do everything he can to win this stranger at the library's heart.





	Early Summer

**Author's Note:**

> HH H hey guys i haven't posted since like august uh not that anyone's an avid fan who's cared enough to notice but anyway i'm back on my bullshit! and i'm like three days late to posting to the fic fest, too, so i'm sorry. sure, i have my life in check. Ab So Lu Te Ly
> 
> DISCLAIMER: loads of joking/talking about sexual things, LOADS of swearing (i'm talking ever other sentence), the f slur is in here a couple of times, and there's like a small part of making out and one hand job but nothing's explicitly described at ALL. it's like, basically just mentioned

 

“You ever thought about the fact that all stories seem to start in the summer?” Soonyoung says. “What’s up with that? Why doesn’t anything start in like, December?” He picks up a slice of watermelon. “Apart from _A Christmas Carol._ God, I fucking hated that book.”

“Summer,” Wonwoo says, stretching his legs out on the sofa with a blank look on his face, “the season of opportunities. Of Hopes. Ephemeral romance.”

“Romance,” Soonyoung repeats, ignoring the ‘short-lived’ part. He takes another bite of watermelon, spitting out the seeds on the plate balanced on his thighs. Wonwoo’s mother cut it up for them. His mother, she’s kind like that. Always cutting up watermelons. Making ice cubes for their water. Things like that. Soonyoung’s parents, they yell at him for being indoors too much. Or, for being at Wonwoo’s house too much. Or, for just being. That’s the shitty thing about being 17. You’re not fully grown up yet, and you don’t really count as a child anymore. You’re just being.

The sounds of cicadas is drowning in the noise of the air conditioning whirring – the house is having some issues with the ventilation – and they’ve just stopped spitting watermelon seeds at each other. They’re lying next to each other on a sofa which is way too small for them to be lying next to each other on. They’re sweaty. They’re bored. Summer love. Yeah, sure.

“Summer,” Wonwoo says again, sighing. 

They both continue staring at the living room’s ceiling.

Of course, there _are_ endless opportunities out there. But not right now. If they were just a little older, maybe. But the thing is that they’re 17. Right now, they’re just being. Soonyoung’s sense of smell is tainted with Axe mixed with t-shirts which haven’t been washed in far too long, and they’re lazily flipping through magazines Wonwoo’s mother has on the coffee table, _discussing_ their endless opportunities. _Vogue Magazine_ is lying on somewhere between them _._ Soonyoung picks it up – solely to have something to do; he’s already counted the stains on the ceiling a few times – and starts thumbing through the pages: _Summer Romance! Summer looks! Summer fashion! Summer collection! Summersummersummersummer!_ Soonyoung rolls his eyes. _God, this is depressing._

“The closest I’ve come to romance this summer is being called faggot on Xbox live,” he says, going for another slice of watermelon. Then he sees that the place is empty spare the black seeds and rind. He lets his head fall back on the sofa’s arm, groaning. “Nothing’s going right. Shit. Wasn’t this supposed to be _the_ summer?”

“It’s only July,” Wonwoo says. “We still have time.”

That gets Soonyoung going. Time? This has nothing to do with time. They have all the time in the world. But if they’re going to play Overwatch for the remaining weeks of the summer, that’s their own fault for being lazy – nothing to do with limited time. They’re wasting the time they have. They are. “We’re wasting the time we have,” Soonyoung states, now sitting up on the sofa, trying to untangle the mess legs their legs have caused whilst simultaneously placing the plate to the side. He stands up. “We have to do something.” It’s like something changes inside of him. It’s like, he feels energized. 

Wonwoo looks up from the copy of _Elle_ he’s holding _. 60 Sex Tips. Look Leaner Naked. 2017 Bedside Astrologer._ “Soonyoung, you’re not a protagonist of an indie teen movie. Fucking sit down again.”

But Soonyoung’s pacing around the living room, _Vogue_ left on the sofa between Wonwoo’s calves. This is _it._  This is the summer. It still is. “Wonwoo, there’s nothing stopping us from doing what we want.”

Wonwoo heaves a deep sigh. Like he’s in this total state of ennui and can’t be disturbed at all costs. Ennui. That’s Wonwoo’s favourite word. It’s this pretentious French word which means something like, ‘bored, but not bored, but more deep in thoughts than bored’. Wonwoo, he learnt it when he was going through his philosophic novel phase. One of his worst. He’d said: _“And to say it, you have to be wearing a beret you got a secondhand store, reading Sartre, drinking coffee, smoking a cigg.”_ Soonyoung had answered: _“All at the same time? Impressive.”_ Wonwoo had called him a dickhead for having no respect for the arts. Because he was the _real_ respecter of the arts. Sure.

“Actually,” he says, “there’s a couple of things stopping us. We don’t have any money. We hardly have friends apart from ourselves. We’re–” pointing an accusing finger at Soonyoung– “virgins. And I mean, Soonyoung, we’re serious virgins. Our virginity is a profession by now. Like, the closest we’ve ever been to coming untouched is listening to Charlie Parker together.” Another one of their things is jazz music. Soonyoung plays the drums, but he’s not allowed to practise for more than two hours at home before his parents start yelling, his sister start yelling, their neighbours start yelling, the whole world starts yelling. Wonwoo doesn’t really play anything. He just enjoys listening to it. Nothing very ‘just’ about that, though. Together, they agree it’s the superior music genre, solely because it’s intricate yet spontaneous yet not yet so orgasmically good. Or, Wonwoo’s been banging on about it for the last ten minutes – not that they would know anything about orgasms. And jazz, that’s one of the only things they can agree on, so it’s a pretty big deal.

Soonyoung is still pacing around the room. When he gets an idea in his head, there’s physically no way he can get it out again. He knows it. Wonwoo knows it, albeit he usually says it in different words. Like, _“Soonyoung, you’re a stubborn asshole. You know that right?”_ “So, let’s do something we can do. C’mon, we’ve already wasted this whole day.” He pouts. “This was supposed to be our summer.”

Wonwoo corrects him. “ _The_ summer. Not ours.” But Soonyoung can see that his arguments are fading away. That he’s giving in to Stubborn Asshole Kwon Soonyoung. As everyone does, eventually. Just to shut him up. “Okay. I’ll strike you a deal. We go outside and do the whole world-is-our-oyster-thing, but _I_ get to choose where we’re going.”

He considers this for a few seconds. “Okay.”

Wonwoo squints. “Really?”

Soonyoung nods. He’s fully smiling. He’s really, really smiling. “Yup.”

“So, what’s the difference from now and when we were moping around five minutes ago?”

“I don’t know. I just feel it.”

“You feel it.”

“Wonwoo, I feel it in my bone marrow.”

“Bone marrow?”

They end up taking the tram to Anderssen Street. They change clothes and everything. Spiderman t-shirt on. Ready to turn shit around. “I think that 1350 won has left me permanently damaged,” Soonyoung says, stretching his arms in front of him. “Let’s just walk home.”

First, Wonwoo hits him in the stomach. He then looks up at the sky, and to Soonyoung, eyebrows furrowed, moue on his face. “You chose the worst day to feel inspired.”

Look, Soonyoung can’t even disagree. But it’s not his fault a perfectly sunny, warm day went to a miserable grey one the moment they stepped out the front door. If it was anything close to a bad omen, he pointedly ignored it. Just as he pointedly ignores Wonwoo’s comment now. Changing the subject, he asks, “Where d’you wanna go?” He mockingly closes his eyes and ducks his head. “Lead on, sire Jeon.”

“What?” Wonwoo looks at him weirdly. “We’re already here.”

They’re standing right in front of Anderssen’s Public Library.

Soonyoung whips his head to the side. “The _library_?”

Ignoring him, Wonwoo starts walking towards the steps to the building. “World is our oyster.” Soonyoung stands rooted to his spot on the pavement, glaring. “Chop chop.”

“You’re only doing this to take the piss out of me.” He folds his arms. He _folds his arms_. Serious business. “What are we supposed to do at the library? Borrow books about how to stop being virgins? How to stop being a dickhead? ‘Cause you need that fucking book, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo grins. “Not so motivated now, are we?”

Soonyoung glares even harder. If there’s anything he hates more than losing an argument, it’s losing one with his best friend of a miserable couple of years. So he grits his teeth and walks forward. “You want to go to the library? We’re going to the library. We are going. We can do anything.”

“Lead the way.” Wonwoo’s taking the piss out of him. He is. “My beloved.”

“Asshole,” Soonyoung says. A smirk. That’s what he receives in lieu of a reply. And silence. Soonyoung could strangle him.

Soonyoung, being dramatic? It may seem so to the untrained eye. Sure. But _Anderssen’s_? Wonwoo is one hundred per fucking cent taking the piss out of Soonyoung’s previous poor life choices. Years ago, he was completely infatuated with this guy. Yeah, yeah. At the bright age of 13, this guy, he was all Kwon Soonyoung knew. It’s true. And this guy, he was a student of Anderssen Middle School. The school right next to the library. It’s not that difficult to put two and two together. Who even let him get close to a library at age 13? Who? Who even let him get close to other boys? Who let him?

Here’s what happened. Soonyoung did way too many regretful things, just to get the attention of this guy. Like, really regretful things. Things that Wonwoo will never live him down for. The worst of them all being The CI. Yeah, neither of them are ever going to forget.

“Take a long, good look, KK,” Wonwoo says, upon entering the main hall. The entire city must have gotten better offers – _quelle surprise!_ – since the only people here are a) pensioners, b) people Soonyoung can’t work out if they’re pensioners or just look old, and c) those young parents with toddlers who think dragging their children to a library during the summer holiday will help them grow into the next Curie family. Not even the usual clientele of burned-out college students are filling up seats today. No bloodshot eyes nor empty cans of cold brew black coffee. It only engenders Soonyoung’s fear of this place. “Anderssen’s Public Library. The remaining weeks of this summer’s hangout spot. Gone are the hours of boredom. _Gone._ ” The old lady standing nearest to them – by the Gardening section, which apparently is a thing – harrumphs loudly. Wonwoo ducks his head and whispers, “Gone.”

“Wonwoo, you’re really smart,” Soonyoung starts, “and you waste those rare brain cells on pulling stunts like this. To embarrass me. I ought to kick your ass. I’d do it.”

Wonwoo pretends that he doesn’t exist. He’s pretty good at that. He starts walking towards the shelves in front of them – ’We Recommend’. “Who’s ‘we’? They recommended _Me Before You_. I don’t trust this ‘we’.” There it is again – always saying stupid shit for gags. Soonyoung really ought to punch him. “Anyway, Soonyoung. I don’t waste my brain cells. I think this is a perfectly good thing we’re doing together. Preparing for our bonding nights here, when we’re at uni.”

Soonyoung scrunches his nose. Scanning the shelves, he sees that the books on the staff’s recommended list aren’t _that_ bad. They have that Han Kang book on it: _The Vegetarian_. Soonyoung, he loved it, and he usually despises reading novels. Extremely weird. Erotic. Loads of blood. Perfect. His parents, who read it first, said they thought it was too bizarre to be enjoyable. Who says things like that? “Who says we’re going to uni together, here? What if I move to like, Iceland, and go to a happy-clappy college where they walk barefoot indoors and there’s fake grass mats lining the corridors and the cafeteria only sells vegan food apart from for this one guy since he’s allergic to like, all legumes and can only eat meat. His name’s Ragnar.”

“Impressive.” Wonwoo nods. “Up until Ragnar. Which you got from that new Thor movie. _Ragnarrök_.”

Soonyoung corrects him. “Norse mythology.” 

“Suck a dick,” Wonwoo says. “What’s the capital of Iceland?”

“Helsinki,” Soonyoung says.

“Reykjavik,” Wonwoo mutters, shaking his head.

But Soonyoung’s pleased. “There’s those brain cells.”

They continue wandering around with no real destination. Piling up novels, short stories. Maybe that’s just life: wandering. Hopefully life is filled with more than rows of vampire pornography and Jamie Oliver’s brand new thousandth cookbook with his thousandth use of the phrase ‘drizzle lightly’. “Bored yet?” Soonyoung asks, as he peeks at the growing collection of books Wonwoo’s juggling in his arms. “Or are we still slurping up metaphorical oysters?”

“ _You_ agreed to this.” God. This library is fucking huge. Soonyoung never realised before today. Since this one summer a few years ago, he’s only ever quickly run in here, hoodie pulled over his head, to borrow _Weekly Shounen Jump._  Fine literature. “Tomorrow, we can do whatever your heart desires. I know you want to go to the new aquarium. The one by Upman’s.” Shit. He does want to go to that aquarium. They have this exhibition, Fantastic Frogs. Frogs from around the world. Who wouldn’t want to go? “But for now, I’m in charge.” He grins. That Wonwoo, he’s always smiling like he has a secret no one else knows. Obviously, this isn’t true. Soonyoung knows every single miniscule detail about him.

Soonyoung rolls his eyes and turns around the next corner. Another long row. He sighs. Sends a glare to Wonwoo’s general direction.“I don’t want to go to an _aquar_ –”

Suddenly, he’s on the floor. There’s just this force. As strong as a thousand hurricanes. And then he’s there. Maybe, there’s some type of mottled black, brown, green blur in front of him before he lands. Green, green, black, brown, greengreengreenrgreenrgrengrneenrgnd. One second ago, he was glaring at Wonwoo on two feet, and now he’s been hurled to the linoleum with such force that his spine is probably permanently damaged. His ass is broken.

Okay, so, he’s not actually on the floor. But he may as well have been. 

Standing a few metres away, there’s this guy. He’s wearing a green jumper. _Green._ As in, an oversized green jumper; too long at the sleeves, hem almost down to his knees. Shitshitshitshitshit. This boy, he’s got this look on his face. As if the novel he’s holding is the best thing he’s ever read in his 16, 17? years of living on this sordid planet. Soonyoung has never seen such an expression. He’s never something like this. He’s never seen someone wearing a green jumper as well as this guy’s doing. Just like that. No thought. Just: an oversized green jumper. He’s never witnessed such a look so normal yet so appreciative. He may has well have been knocked to the ground. Honestly. Seriously. Shit, he may as well have been defenestrated. He may as well have been obliterated. Like, he’s seriously destroyed. Honestly, seriously, shit, shit, shit. 

Soonyoung squeaks and throws himself back around the corner, tugging Wonwoo by the sleeve. “Shit!”

Wonwoo raises his eyebrows. That’s all. He raises his eyebrows. And Soonyoung knows he knows, because he always knows. That’s just them: they always know. “No.”

“Wonwoo.” 

“Soonyoung, you’re not thinking properly.”

“Wonwoo. I’m fucking destroyed. I’m seriously destroyed.”

“Soonyoung. You’re desperate for a boyfriend. _I’m_ serious.”

“Wonwoo. Romance. Summer.”

“ _Ephemeral romance_ , KK.” KK. When they were in middle school, Soonyoung went through a Kit Kat phase. Everyday, he’d go to the corner store and buy a Kit Kat. There was no real reason. He just liked Kit Kats. So, he got the KK nickname. Some people don’t even know his real name. Wonwoo started the whole thing. He’d asked Soonyoung – the first thing he ever said to him, in fact – _“Why the Kit Kats?”_ Soonyoung had shrugged. _“It means good luck in Japan.”_ What did he know about Japan? He didn’t solely want to admit that he just liked Kit Kats. “ _You know. Learning from other cultures. Adapting.”_ At this point, Wonwoo was studying his obviously fake pretense of intellect. _“But we’re Korean,”_ he’d answered. Soonyoung, palms sweating, had replied, _“So?”_ Wonwoo had smiled at this. _“Okay. Kit Kats. I get it. Kit Kat.”_ He didn’t get it, but he didn’t want to seem narrow minded, and they became good friends anyway, and he’s kind of been stuck with the guy ever since.

“And?” Soonyoung’s body is vibrating. If this were a film, the entire shot would go completely lensflare on him. All colours, all light, all sun reflecting off the stranger’s green jumper. Long eyelashes. Hair. If it were a novel: the two of them described as a syzygy – the moon and the sun. A pair of connecting things. A stream, coalescing to form a waterfall. He doesn’t know shit about novels or films. He didn’t know anything before this man. The guy in the jumper, reading. He didn’t know shit before him. That’s _it._ This is his moment of enlightenment. This is the moment Kwon Soonyoung realises why the big bang happened. This is when he realises why life is worth living. This is when he realises–

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but please stop.” Wonwoo cuts him off. “You’re making that _face._ The Mingyu-Face.”

Soonyoung snaps himself out of his mind. When Wonwoo says that – _‘Mingyu-Face’,_ that’s some serious business – he snaps out of it. “So, what? Isn’t this what’s summer’s all about? Making mistakes? Falling in love and being rejected and getting hurt and never forgetting the crushing weight of your past, stopping you from ever feeling anything again?” He needs to distract Wonwoo, and he needs to do it quickly.

Wonwoo frowns. “Maybe?”

Soonyoung dares turning another centimetre to the side to steal another glance of the man.

There he is, again. In all his green-jumper-glory. Soonyoung is knocked off his socks off his feet. Is that even a sentence? He’s like, he’s slammed into the next dimension. Who wears a green jumper in July? Who wears one any time of the year? This guy does. “He’s beautiful.”

“That’s what you said about Mingyu.” Sing-song voice. He knows what he’s doing.

And it’s working on him, believe it or not. “But he’s _not_ Mingyu,” Soonyoung snaps, rolling his eyes. “Not _everyone_ is Mingyu.”

Wonwoo raises his hands in defense. “Listen, I just don’t want to see you all hurt again.”

They’re both quiet for a few seconds..

Soonyoung says, “Bullshit.”

Wonwoo says, “Yeah, pretty bullshit.”

Soonyoung says, “Try harder next time, please.”

Wonwoo says, “I’ll strike you a deal.”

“Again?”

Wonwoo ignores ignores his nth cold look of the day. “You’re obviously interested in this guy. He’s reading one of my favourite novels: _Lolita._ So, to help you win this dude’s heart, I’ll completely transform you. I’ll make you a literature-fucker. I’m serious. You’ll have all these paper cuts on your dick after a week. I teach you the art of ennui _._ I will. You can start all these easy conversations with this guy right here.” He pauses. “This is a deal, though. And here’s what’s in it for me – I get to choose where we go when we’re together this summer.” Wonwoo grins, again. Grins really widely. “You hear that? Kiss goodbye to Fantastic Frogs. Just kiss goodbye to the frogs.” How does he do that? It’s like he can read minds. With Wonwoo, who knows.  

There’s the thing. Soonyoung is so charmed by this stranger: someone with this, this, this, this tangled? soft? brown hair and unsuitable clothing for 30 degrees celsius weather, that he agrees to the stupid deal. That’s what he does. He practically agrees to spend a month at either the library or something else obscure Wonwoo chooses to do. He could just rock up at the Kwons’ front door and say, _“I’m taking your son to a cabin up north with no electricity or running water,”_ and he couldn’t say no.

Wonwoo smirks, and grips his hand to shake it thoroughly. “Glad doing business with you. Now, may I interest you in Vladimir Nabokov and the greatest novel of rapture in modern fiction?”

 

 

 

_I wonder why_

_The birds_

_Fly_

_Why anteaters eat ants_

_And I wonder why I when I’m in the bath, I put my head halfway underwater and I can hear my heart beating_

_I wonder how the body works_

_Isn’t it funny?_

_How your lungs and heart and brain and_

Chan and Seungkwan are silent. Seokmin clears his throat. “It’s done.”

“Huh?” Chan says, scratching the back of his neck. Seungkwan pretends that he’s deep in thoughts.

They’re sitting on the park bench outside of Anderssen’s. Chan, he just hates going in there – _“It’s like shoving liquorice and conservatism up your ass. Imagine how the school is, Seokmin. There’s probably Bible quotes no matter where you are. In the toilet. Before jacking off, you have to think of Him. Always.”_ Seungkwan says he’s allergic to dust. The park bench works, in the summer. During the winter they all squeeze themselves into Seokmin’s room. Or, they do that during the summer too. But then Chan complains about the room being a sweatyroomofguysbutnotthefunkind. And the park bench, it has this giant tree above, and a football field a couple of hundred metres away. The children’s team coach is the reason they get out of their rooms in the first place. 

“What d’you think?” Seokmin asks. There’s really no point in asking. They hate his poetry. Or, it’s ‘too abstract’ for them, he guesses.

“I don’t get it,” Chan says bluntly. At least he’s straightforward about it.

Seokmin sighs. “You’re not supposed to ‘get’–” pause– “anything. You’re supposed to feel. 

“All I felt was,” Chan says, looking at Seokmin’s notebook with knitted eyebrows, “confusion.”

Seokmin sighs again.

Seungkwan says, “You know what? I like it.” He has this pretentiously long pause, as if he were taking a drag from a cigarette. _‘Drag from a fag’_. Chan’s favourite expression.  “He just doesn’t understand the artistic meaning of it. Beauty in simplicity.”

Chan says, “Simplicity, all right.” It’s more like a mutter. He looks up and sees the children’s football coach, who seems to be finished with today’s lesson and is now standing only a few metres away in the shade of a copse of trees, stretching. “Ten o’clock. Ten o’clock!” Seokmin peeks over to the left. He’s leaning over. God – his thighs are fucking good. 

“Fuck,” he replies. Next to him, Chan pretends to fan his face and takes a gulp of some canned iced latte Seokmin hasn’t noticed he’s been drinking from this whole time.

“It’s like, two,” Seungkwan notes. “Not ten o’clock.”

Seokmin and Chan stare at him.

Seungkwan, he’s not exactly stupid. He’s socially aware. Of things. Most of the time. But, the guy gets confused sometimes. He’s just like, he’s just like a little lost. They tease him for it, and he usually gets why they joke about it, but sometimes they just let it rest. That’s just Seungkwan. He jokes. He’s funny. He’s confused, sometimes. Chan is the complete opposite. He’s always using sarcasm and has opinions about everything. _“It’s my coping mechanisms.”_ He’s often talking about his ‘copings’ and ‘defenses’ – terms he probably got from his therapist. Those two, they’re not really completely different, if you think about it. Technically they should hate each other. They’re just on completely different sides of some kind of spectrum. But somehow, they fit and can be together as if they have the exact same personality. Which is crazy. Seungkwan and Chan? If you’d only met them separately, you’d think they’d repel each other. When they actually slot together like, like, like ionic bonding.

And Seokmin? He just wants to win this fucking writing contest.

He looks at the children’s football team’s coach, and places his head in his hands and groans. “ _Uuugugug   ug ghhh_.”

“It’s okay, Seokmin,” Seungkwan says, patting his back gently, “you have time left. You can think of something better.”

 _‘Something better’_. Seokmin groans again. Like his stomach’s being emptied out. Like he feels sick merely thinking about writing again – maybe that’s the truth. Stone cold truth. Seungkwan smiles and repeats himself, “You have time.”

“Deadline’s in September,” Seokmin chides. This sentence, it’s probably his most used one this summer. He’s been saying it instead of ‘good morning’ and ‘sure’. Just: _“Deadline’s in September.”_ With cold coffee in mugs, half of the books at Anderssen’s spread out on his desk, and an empty head. September.

“We get that you want to win,” Chan starts. He throws his empty iced latte at the nearest bin. It misses. “But I mean, you’re going crazy. When was the last time you touched your piano?” 

“Yesterday?” Seokmin says. 

Chan blatantly ignores him, and stands up to properly throw the can in the bin before sitting down again on the minimal space of the park bench. Today, it’s sunny outside. That’s a plus. But they’re also all warm, and the sky is completely cleared of clouds, so Chan picks up Seokmin’s notebook and starts waving it as a fan. He continues, sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose: “You’ve been all distant with the world this summer. What have you been doing apart from hanging out with us, reading and writing?”

Seokmin huffs. Chan’s not steering too far away from the truth, but there’s still some exaggeration needing to be cleared up. “Helped Granddad, worked in the shop, been to the library, worked a few shifts at Coop, taught Gabriel to roll over–” 

“Really?” Seungkwan says, lighting up.

“– _played the piano_ , eaten Japanese food, been to the cinema with you two–”

“Yeah, yeah, and a partridge in a pear tree,” Chan interrupts. Seokmin frowns. That’s Chan. He’s sharp, but he usually means the best for you. Usually. “Now you’re just naming normal things normal people do. _‘Eaten Japanese food’_ ? That’s a highlight? Seokmin, you’re never going to get inspiration if you don’t do anything. Inspiration doesn’t have to come from the ass-lickingly long books you read. It’s all around you. Inspiration, huh? Write about the football field over there. Write about Anderssen’s. Write about your granddad.” He sighs. “Do things, and write about _them_. Find love.”

 _‘Find love’._ Lee Chan says it as if he could replace Wilde with that sincere quote. Beauty in simplicity. Sure. Sure. Sure.

“Love.” Seokmin frowns. He’s had this conversation with Chan a million times before. Love. Seungkwan’s nodding along. “First, I need to get laid. Then love.” He says this as a joke – even laughs a little – but there’s some truth in his words.

“Get laid? In that outfit?” Chan rests his sunglasses against his forehead to look Seokmin up and down. Since Chan watched _RuPaul’s_ , he thinks he’s an expert on fashion. “It’s like, 30 degrees. You’re wearing a jumper.”

Seokmin defends himself. “80s fashion is all the rage.” He looks at the jumper he’s wearing. It’s not that bad. Secondhand, green. He’s saving the environment and all. “Also, the weather guy said it would rain later.” 

“Well, then. It’s settled.” Seungkwan stretches his legs, then his arms. “How long as we staying here? Let’s go.”

“There’s one more book I have to borrow,” Seokmin says, and watches his best friends’ faces switch to annoyed. Even Seungkwan’s has this expression of irritation. Those guys, they’re always honest. “You can go hang out at the shop. If Granddad’s not home, the spare keys are under the flowerpot.” They already know this fact, but they nod as if it’s the first time hearing it, say their goodbyes and, start walking away. Seokmin calls after them: “Buy some ice cream for us!” Chan see-saws his hand without looking back. “Häagen-Dazs, not that cheap shit!” He flips the bird.

Seokmin was only originally meant to grab one novel and then leave, but somehow – well, it’s not the most surprising of all happenings – he gets stuck in there. An hour later, he’s still scanning the endless rows and reading blurbs of different books. _Lolita. ‘–middle-aged Englishman’s passion for a honey-hued, delicately pubescent twelve-year-old American girl’–_ Okay. Fuck. Maybe forget that one. He’s just about to put the book back when he sees, in the corner of his eye, that someone seems to be looking at him down the corridor. He doesn’t want to come off as an uncultured prick, so he starts flipping through the pages and reading and pretending he’s engrossed in every word.

Then his phone starts ringing, and the person down the corridor seems to be gone. He answers the call. It’s Chan, demanding to know where he is.

 _“We didn’t get Haägen-Dazs,”_ he says. _“Just those red bean vanilla ones on sticks. You know, you should be glad we chipped in with a little more than ice lollies. But, anyway, yours is melting. Where are you? Get the fuck over here. Wait–”_ He audibly shuffles to cover the mic for a few seconds. _“Sorry, Seungkwan’s feeding ice cream to Gabriel. And now he’s–”_ another pause– _“Wait, Kwan, that’s not a good idea– Okay–”_

He hangs up. 

Seokmin sighs. He should probably get home before they kill his cat.

During the time he was in the library, the weather did get miserably worse, and Seokmin rode his bicycle here so he’ll have to do the same back home. It’s only 20 minutes by bike. A nice ride when the weather’s good: all greenery and empty paths and cicadas. Filmesque. Now, not so much. Just as he’s a few blocks away from the shop, he feels the raindrops sliding down his head. “Shit, shit, shit.” As he’s steering his bicycle, he simultaneously tries to cover the library books and his notebook in the basket. And almost skids onto the pavement. “ _Shit_.” He stops himself from falling to the side and pedals on, quicker than before.

Gabriel isn’t dead when he’s home.

He’s lying underneath the table floor between Chan and Seungkwan, and doesn’t even bother getting up when Seokmin enters the room. There’s one plate on the middle of the table. Along with a few empty glasses. It looks like they made ice tea, and didn’t spare any for him. Seungkwan says, “You took too long. We decided to share your ice cream.” 

“Is Granddad here?” Seokmin asks, and clears away the dishes.

“Don’t you know when he works or not?” Chan says. “And, no, he’s not here. We just let ourselves in.”

Seokmin shrugs. “He kind of comes and goes as he pleases.” He squats down, narrowly missing the corner of the table, and smiles at Gabriel. “Hey.” Gabriel’s face twitches in recognition. “Did they try to murder you, baby? It’s okay, I’m here now. I’m here.”

“This is why you don’t have a boyfriend,” Chan murmurs, looking at Seokmin lifting Gabriel up and pecking him with kisses on the head.

“Gabriel’s my boyfriend,” Seokmin says. 

The name is taken from one of his favourite authors. Marquez. Most people just think they’re Christian. Seokmin’s granddad, he thought it was a good name, too. _Gabriel._ Not too pretentious like Edgar Allan, or obvious like Chopin, or intelligent like Schrödinger. Gabriel, that was a good name for their cat. Black and white. Gabriel.  _“Like the angel?”_ Could be. Like the angel.

“Gabriel’s his boyfriend,” Seungkwan repeats, smiling at Chan.

Head resting in his palms, studying Seokmin’s mug coaster which has a picture of magikarps on and says _Karpnado! Pray they don’t evolve!,_ Chan says, “It’s like, I’m the only sane one in this room,” and Gabriel lets out a soft _mjau_ in agreement.

 

 

 

A few days later, Seokmin sits on the park bench. Alone.

It’s not as if he didn’t choose this. He just told his friends he needed some time alone, and they’d said _okay_ and gone off to see a movie together. Being around his granddad for longer periods of time, it can be exhausting. That’s why they work in shifts at the shop. He loves his grandfather, he really does, and owning the antiques shop has been his thing for many, many, years, and most of the time it goes pretty well. But sometimes he can be a little eccentric. It’s like, he has all these crazy ideas about different things. Ideas that will never come to life. And Seokmin always has to be the one to back him up, and support him, and has to work part-time at the supermarket so they can afford to buy some luxuries and not just necessities.

This is one of the main reasons he really wants to win the competition. There’s this cash prize. 8 million won. Shit. A lot of money. So, Seokmin has this insane dream, too – it’s likely he got this trait from his granddad. He really wants to study abroad. In Vienna, maybe. The capital city of music. He has this intangible dream of becoming a really good pianist. World famous. The reading and writing, it’s just a side hobby. Music? Now that’s his passion. He’s good at it, too. Won piano competitions and everything. But never ones as big as this writing contest. If he wins this, it would help him along the way.

Who knows? Maybe he’ll stick for the writing thing and want to study literature somewhere. It’s just, he wants to do _something._ Things which aren’t easy to do in his neighbourhood; in the current situation he’s in. He’s just, he’s just stuck. Here. In this city, if it even can be called a city with this many inhabitants. A bigger town.

But right now, he’s on the library’s park bench. Alone. The children team’s football coach isn’t there, so there’s no real reason to be outside apart from the early sun lying hot on his face. He’s taking Chan’s advice, and is just writing about everything he’s seeing. An old lady walking her dog. He’s describing everything down to the tiny details. The leaf stuck to her hair; her Prussian blue handbag; the dog’s tiny paws hitting the gravel of the path by the field. All of that.

Seungkwan had woken him up at 8 a.m. with a phone call. So much for letting him have some space. _“Seokmin, you have to see this Taiwanese romance film I just watched. It’s called ‘You are the Apple of My Eye’.”_  

He’d replied: “Mm?”

_“It’s really funny.”_

“Why are you awake, Kwan?”

_“I just watched this Taiwanese romance film.”_

“Okay.”

_“You should see it.”_

“I will.”

_“Today?”_

“Mm, later.”

_“Okay. Tell me what you think.”_

Then Seungkwan had hung up.

He had groaned and not seen a point in going back to bed, and then he had gotten up, made himself some coffee, left a reused note on the kitchen table, gone to the library, borrowed a single book, and sat himself down on this bench. Seokmin picks up the book, now, and looks at the front cover. An anthology of poems. _The Rattle Bag._  

It’s dusty. It was abandoned on a shelf somewhere. No one can have borrowed it since like, the 40s. Just for fun, Seokmin flips through the pages to the end, and looks at the checkout card. Yeah. _Checkout card._ That’s how old fashioned and conservative Anderssen’s is. No electronic devices allowed. You write your name and date on a checkout card.

There’s only a handful of stamps. The most recent one being:

_Kwon Soonyoung 14/7-17_

_16/7-17_

_The 14th of July?_ Seokmin thinks, staring at the numbers. _Huh?_ Today, it’s the 21st. Could that be right? Also, this person only borrowed it for 2 days. Who does that? Seriously, who does that? He stares at the numbers. Then at the name. Soonyoung. Weird. Seokmin furrows his eyebrows. Maybe the collection of poems really is _that_ bad.  _T_ _he Rattle Bag_ did not impress someone named Soonyoung.

He continues describing the shape of the old woman’s sun hat, and in an hour’s time he gets a text from Chan saying that he and Seungkwan are getting Chinese for lunch. _come w us,_ he writes. Man of many words.

Seokmin is halfway to Formosa – this hole in the wall Chinese place they always go to; cheap prices, large portions, smiles and 10% discounts for being their most loyal customers  – when he realises that he’s forgotten his fucking notebook. That’s Lee Seokmin. That’s him. Who else wants to win a competition this much, and then forgets their material? Who? At least he has  _The Rattle Bag_ in his bicycle basket. Taunting him. Piece of shit book. Someone named Soonyoung, somewhere in the world, agrees with him.

So he turns around and cycles back to the library, calling Chan to say he’ll be late, and, can you please order me a _gong bao doufu_? and, thanks, man, tofu not chicken, thanks, yeah, I just forgot something at the library, Sprite, thanks, okay. He walks past the football field, past the path of gravel, up the stairs, turn right, there’s the tree, there’s the bench. There’s his notebook.

Seokmin freezes.

There’s his notebook.

In the hands of a stranger. Reading it.

There’s his notebook. There’s his winning material. There’s his work of the entire summer compiled. And this guy, he’s oily. He’s real greased up. This stranger, he’s got a funny smile on his face. Like, he’s nervous about something. He’s got sweatpants on. He’s turning the pages and reading Seokmin’s notebook. His notebook! His! _His notebook!_

Seokmin sprints forward to the stranger. Seriously. He _runs_. “Hey!”

 

 

 

“Hey!” Soonyoung almost forgets everything he rehearsed with Wonwoo. He could’ve forgotten every language he’s every learnt. On the spot. Apart from the German he studied one term – he’s kind of already forgotten that. So.

 

 

 

“What the fuck?” Seokmin says, standing right in front of the guy’s face.

No personal space given.

He stands there, hands on his hips, glaring. “That’s my notebook. What the hell do you think you’re doing with _my_ notebook? Reading, at that?”

The guy blinks. It’s all fake-innocent. Like, oh, he has these big, beautiful eyes, which Seokmin simply can’t resist. And he has these pouty lips, which Seokmin could never be angry at. And he has this earring. And he has these _grey sweatpants_. In the summer. He hates that. “You forgot it here. Finder’s keepers.” 

Seokmin is in absolute disbelief. Who _is_ this dude? Looks Seokmin’s age, but acting like a six-year-old. “It’s my property.” He repeats himself, “What the fuck?” 

“Is that so–” checking the front page– “Seokmin?” He’s teasing. What an asshole. What an asshole! He’s got this smirk, now. Of course. Of course he’s smirking. What an asshole. “You know, I really like your comparisons of Mrs. Walter’s handbag to the ‘deep, sapphire hue of a’–”

Seokmin doesn’t let him finish the sentence. Burning red, he grabs the notebook straight from the stranger’s hands. “Who are you?”

“Ooh,” he says, lifting his finger and inspecting it. Papercut. Okay, Seokmin’s fault for snatching. But maybe he shouldn’t have been such a dickwad in the first place. Who is this? “That hurt. Don’t be so rough, babe.” 

Seokmin can’t believe his life. He repeats himself, trying to calm himself down, “Who are you?” He says it incredulously. Who wouldn’t? This situation, it’s one straight out of a novel. Some guy in sweatpants, with his legs spread all over the park bench, acting all coquettish with Seokmin as he’s pretending a papercut the size of a small needle will have him scarred for life. 

Actually – it’s more like an opening to an incredibly weird, detailed porno. Maybe that’s what being 17 years old fucking is. Just, loads of weird porno openings in a row. Without the porn.

“If you say, _‘I’m whoever you want to be’_ , I’ll kick your ass,” Seokmin says. “I will.” So, he’s pretending to be more like Chan than he is himself. That’s what he always does in situations he knows Chan would handle a thousand times better. He repeats himself. “I will.” Seems like he’s repeating himself most of the time in this conversation. Maybe because it’s so unrealistic that his brain’s having a hard time processing it.

The guy laughs. It sounds genuine: not so mocking or playful. It sounds like a clean, gaily laugh. Seokmin looks at him skeptically. And he looks back at Seokmin, and runs a hand through his hair whilst smiling. Not smirking. Just smiling. “I liked your poems.”

 _Don’tblushdon’tblushyouarenotthatdesperate_ . “And _I_  like lemon sorbet, but sometimes we don’t get what we want in life.” That really was the best he could come up with. It was. Lemon sorbet. Shit, he’s been craving it all week. Chan would’ve thought of something better, but he’s now running at least 15 minutes late to Formosa and has wasted time on some guy with grey sweatpants who is only wearing them to show the clear outline of his dick, so he straightens his back and looks at the guy for what hopefully is a last time. “I’ve had enough of this.” If it were Chan, he would’ve said something like, _“Adios,”_ and clicked his tongue for a dramatic flair. Seokmin, he believes that minimalism has a better impact.

He turns on his heel and starts walking away.

 

 

 

Seokmin – he has a name, he has a name! – turns on his heel, ready to walk away, which is when the weight of reality comes crashing down on Soonyoung. He’s messed up. The plan is messed up. Abort. Abort. Abort! Abort! Playing cool doesn’t work and now he just looks like an asshole, and even smiling nicely didn’t work, and now Seokmin’s walking away and the entire summer romance master plan he conducted with Wonwoo whilst listening to Van Morrison, it’s crumbling beneath his feet. _Abort mission!_ “Wait!”

Seokmin stops, and doesn’t turn around. “What?” He sounds like he hisses it out. Soonyoung winces. This was _not_ a good idea. Now he’s all flustered and breathless and nervous and he’s never going to get to know Seokmin. God – he should’ve aborted mission before even sitting down on the bench. He should’ve aborted mission when he looked at himself in the mirror, all pomaded up with Wonwoo’s old gym clothes on. Looking like a right idiot. That’s when he should’ve aborted mission. And sat in his room the rest of the summer. Played the drums for the two hours he’s allowed to. In fact, he should’ve never missioned from the start.

Soonyoung can’t think of anything good to say. But he also wants to stop Seokmin from leaving, somehow, somewhere. This is what he comes up with: “I can, uh, get you lemon, lemon sorbet.” 

And, he fucks up royally. He can’t even say lemon without stuttering. Soonyoung could melt on the spot. He could.

Seokmin turns around just to look at him. He looks at him sheepishly knotting his hands together, hoping Seokmin’ll take the hint, realise he was being a prick just to get his attention, and accept the not-even-half-arsed offer to go on a lemon-sorbet-date with him. All Seokmin does is say, “I’m late to meeting my friends,” and leaves. He breaks into a run by the stairs. Then he’s gone from Soonyoung’s sight, and he’s still standing there with sweaty palms and a heart filling with the sense of failure.

Later on in the day, Soonyoung lies down in Wonwoo’s sofa. Dramatically. They’re back to square one, it seems. But this time there’s not even watermelon. “I’m fucked. I’m fucked.” He fans himself with one hand, and Wonwoo raises a single eyebrow. “And _not_ in the way we wanted. I’m fucked over.”

“Self-pity isn’t good, KK,” Wonwoo says. Sure. He’s a mental health guru all of a sudden.

“My life isn’t good,” Soonyoung snaps. He groans, and shuffles his legs onto Wonwoo’s stomach and presses down gently. Wonwoo tries to sweat him away with the wave of a hand. It’s sunny. They’re hot. They’re tired. “What do I do now? Seriously, Wonwoo? Summer romance cancelled. Let me mope in my own misery. Mope, I say.” Soonyoung heaves a deep sigh. Then groans again. “ _Gooood_. He was so good, too, and I’ll never get to know him properly apart from the fact that he likes writing about old women walking their dogs.” Soonyoung tugs at his ears. “And I don’t even fucking know what do with that information!”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Well, what the hell do you suggest doing? Going back to playing Overwatch with 9-year-old Genji mains who use Xbox controls for their PC?” He squirms in his spot against the headrest, and pokes Soonyoung in the cheek with his foot. Soonyoung, he’s too tired to protest. “I taught you like, every plot to every classic there is, ‘cause you wanted to impress that guy. And you fumbled it. You can’t keep crying over it for all eternity.” 

“Okay, just rub it in a little more,” Soonyoung mutters.

“Maybe it’s my fault, too,” Wonwoo says, folding his arms. This is odd. Soonyoung was thinking that, but he never thought Wonwoo would admit it himself – in fact he thought he’d have to be the one to accuse him of being partially the reason for his failure. Here’s the thing: Wonwoo doesn’t admit when he’s wrong. Ever. Neither does Soonyoung. That’s why, when they work together – two stubborn little shits – they’re invincible. Well, unless their plans go wrong. Like it just did. “I thought the whole ‘cool guy’ thing would work. Especially if you covered it up by acting nice.” He frowns. “Maybe it just, it just doesn’t work out like that. I don’t know. Life isn’t a rom-com.”

Soonyoung nods solemnly. “Life isn’t a rom-com.”

“So, how do we fix this?” Wonwoo asks, sitting up properly, and looking at Soonyoung. “Backup plan?” He has this small grin on his face.

Backup plan. That’s another one of their things. After the CI, Soonyoung had apparently said, thought he declines this now, _“It was my backup plan,”_ to Wonwoo, and he’d kind of never lived it down. When he and Mingyu had broken up, Wonwoo had just told him to come over and watch _The Simpsons_ reruns, like any other normal day. _“Backup plan?”_ he’d said, smiling like he’s doing now.

That same day, Soonyoung had cried on the way back home to his house, and called Wonwoo to say he was crying on the way back home. Wonwoo ran to meet him, and then they walked to the park and sat on the swings until Soonyoung started sniffling again. Wonwoo took him home, and did all the talking with his parents. He made up this great story, and his parents fell for it it straight away. They were 14. Wonwoo handled everything so seriously. Soonyoung, he was just sad. Like, at the time, he swore he knew was love was.

That wasn’t a very good summer. 

Soonyoung thinks about being 14, sitting on this very same sofa, trying to focus on the classic gag of Homer doing something stupid when his mind was kilometres away. This summer, it has to be better. 

“Backup plan?” Soonyoung says. He sits up, too, now bumping shoulders with Wonwoo. “The checkout cards. That’s our backup.”

“The checkout cards,” Wonwoo says, smiling. “Now we’re talking.”

 

 

 

“The checkout cards?” Chan says, furrowing his eyebrows. He takes a quick glance at the end of the book, not really visibly thinking about it. “What the hell even is that? Anderssen’s is from the Stone Age, I _swear_ , this book–” _The Rattle Bag_ of all things; cursed item– “could’ve been dug up at the same time as the first dinosaur fossil was excavated–”

“ _Look at them,_ ” Seokmin hisses. “You two. Take this seriously.” Seungkwan opens a book, scans the checkout card, and stares at Seokmin in confusion. “I mean, look at _several_ of them.”

Chan raises his hands in mock self-defense. “Okay, shit.”

Seungkwan opens another book. They flip through it together. Seungkwan studies the card again, and continues looking just as confused as a few seconds prior. “Huh?” Chan says. “I’m really not getting what the point of this is?”

Seokmin sighs in exasperation. “Look at the names. Or, _the_ name.”

They look between the two checkout cards.

Understanding now, Chan says, “Okay. This guy borrowed the same book as you did before you. Twice. And?” Chan, his eyebrows sometimes look like if he raised them further, they would reach the end of the Milky Way. “What’s the significance?”

Seungkwan says, “Who borrows a book for two days?”

Pointing at Seungkwan, Seokmin says, “Right! Right! Who does that? And, anyway, it’s not just these two. It’s every single book I’ve borrowed these last like, two, three weeks, or something. Every book. Every book has been borrowed by that guy, and then been stamped as returned like, an incredibly short amount of time later.”

Seungkwan says, “Stalker.”

Seokmin says, “Hopefully, not that. But you have to admit, this is weird. I mean, not-even-a-coincidence weird.”

Kwon Soonyoung. Who was he? Hopefully, not an asshole. Thanks to today’s official Notebook Debacle, he’s had enough of assholes. When he’d gotten home and started to read as a distraction, that’s when he found the whole Kwon Soonyoung thing. It was tripping him out so much that he called Chan and Seungkwan over. In moments like this, he needs support. Like after today’s encounter by the park bench, when he’d ranted at Formosa for half an hour straight. Then he got free fried banana from the waitress. That wasn’t too bad.

“Yeah.” Chan strokes his chin. “Yeah.”

Seokmin bites his lip. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s weird.”

“I thought you were going to say like, you knew who he is.”

“Huh? No, we don’t know a Soonyoung. Or do we?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Yeah.”

“He could be old, though. Like, 60. Most of the library’s clientele is.”

“Yeah, but, why would he borrow those books?” Then Chan says exactly what Seokmin’s been thinking about, but didn’t say out loud since he didn’t want to look narcissistic: “Seems like someone’s trying to grab your attention.” He looks thoughtful. “Or, they genuinely just have the exact same taste in novels as you do.”

“I know a Soonyoung,” Seungkwan says.

Seokmin looks over to him. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan says. “My uncle.”

Seokmin says, “Your uncle.”

Seungkwan repeats himself. “My uncle.”

“Well, then, it’s settled!” Chan says, slapping his thigh with his left hand. “Isn’t life crazy? Seungkwan’s uncle is _Seokmin’s stalker_. It all makes perfect sense now!” To end it, he does jazz hands. Now, that’s Chan for you. Always taking the piss. In fact, one of the first things he ever heard Chan say was when he muttered, _“Yeah, and_ I’m _Jackie Chan’s long lost cousin. Crazy, right?”_ when someone in class had said, very loudly, that they were related to Britney Spears. Very distantly. Like, that person claimed they were a sixteenth Swedish, which, obviously, made them practically American.

Seungkwan detects his dripping sarcasm, and huffs. “Who knows?”

“It’s not your uncle,” Chan snaps. He flicks Seungkwan’s forehead. “Unless his surname magically happens to be _Kwon_.” 

Seungkwan appears to think about it. “Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ and everything.

Chan breaks into laughter. He and Seungkwan are sitting next to each other on Seokmin’s bed, whereas Seokmin is sitting in front of them, having turned his chair around from facing the desk to face them instead. It’s getting dark outside by now. They’re probably going to stay the night, whether Seokmin likes it or not. They have a habit of just falling asleep wherever. One time, Seungkwan fell asleep on a chair in the shop, and his granddad didn’t notice it so he opened at normal time nonetheless. Thankfully, the customer who found him there, still asleep at 11 a.m., had a sense of humour and didn’t complain about it.

“It’s not _that_ funny,” Seokmin says, picking at his fingernails. “What if someone seriously is trying to get my attention? Kwon Soonyoung? Should we try and find him online? Phone book?”

“No, no, no, no,” Chan says, settling himself down onto the bed and resting the back of his head on Seungkwan’s lap. Seungkwan shifts to sit with his legs crossed. “That takes the fun out of it. If he does want to get your attention, this is all the start to something bigger. What d’you reckon, Kwan?”

Seungkwan looks at Chan, lying beneath him. “Uh, I guess.”

“Yeah, but,” Seokmin starts.

Chan places a finger to his lips. “ _S_ _hhhh_. You’re taking the fun out of it. Whoever that Soonyoung is, he must be doing this for a reason. Don’t try and find him.” He pauses. “Let _him_ find _you_.”

Seungkwan is playing with Chan’s hair. “ _‘Let_ him _find_ you _’_. Who said that?”

“Huh?” Chan looks up at him and smiles. Sometimes, Chan gets this smile. Like, it’s hard to describe. Most of the time he smirks, or has that lopsided grin, but there’s this one smile. He just gets it sometimes. It’s one of those things that just is. “I did. Just now.”

“It sounds like, like, a quote.”

Chan closes his eyes. “Mmmnm. Did it?”

Seokmin rolls his eyes. Leeakespeare. Sure. “So, I should just wait? And not do anything?”

“Yeah, just wait,” Chan says, turning over slightly, eyes still closed, content. His cheek is all squished against Seungkwan’s thigh as if it were a pillow. “Waiting has never hurt anybody.”

An hour later, Chan and Seungkwan have – to no one’s surprise – both fallen asleep on his bed. Seokmin hunts down an old mattress, places it next the bed, and goes downstairs to say to goodnight to his granddad. His granddad, he’s 73. Not too old. Not too young, either. He’s special. He has plans, plans, plans, ideas, projects, and he then can be completely lost and confused sometimes. He can have a hard time knowing what’s appropriate and not for certain situations. He makes jokes at the wrong times, he struggles to give proper advice, he’s stubborn.

But, the truth is that Seokmin’s granddad has a heart of gold. That is the truth. He’s always doing all these things for charity. Volunteer work. Marathons. Sending away Christmas gifts to children in Ukraine, Romania, other places Seokmin had never heard of before.

He doesn’t remember anything about his parents. His granddad rarely mentions them. All Seokmin’s ever known is his granddad, and the shop. The shop, and their small apartment above. The kitchen right next to the shop. But their bedrooms, they’re one floor upstairs. It’s convenient. His grandfather, he’s had a few wives and girlfriends. None of which have lasted forever. He’s always put Seokmin first. Always. Although they don’t always have close contact everyday, there’s no one either of them care more about than each other. That’s – unless his granddad now has someone else which he’s not heard of yet – the biggest truth of them all.

He walks into the kitchen. His granddad’s sitting by the table, reading the newspaper. He looks up when he hears Seokmin coming up closer. Gabriel is lying under his chair. Gabriel, he likes the kitchen and shop the most. The bedrooms, not so much. They think he doesn’t like going up the stairs. “Is that the soft pitter-patter of feet I hear?”

Seokmin smiles. “Gabriel’s paws, maybe. Mine? Not so soft.”

“Soft enough,” his granddad says. “Why are you still awake? Are the boys sleeping over?”

“Yeah, it seems so,” Seokmin says, shrugging. He looks over at the sink. The dishes are piling up. Not an unusual sight. “Should I do the dishes?” Technically, it’s his granddad’s week to do it, but it doesn’t seem to be going very well for him. Not an unusual happening, either. 

His granddad just replies, “I’ll fix it. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Seokmin says. “Okay.”

After he says a quick goodnight and starts walking upstairs again, he can hear his granddad singing quietly. _“The sun’ll come out, tomorrow…”_ He over exaggerates the American accent. _Taamawrooah._ Seokmin smiles and walks up the stairs, closing the door behind him gently to not wake up his friends.

 

 

 

The following day, Soonyoung decides to not go to the library.

He needs to clear his head. He already associated Anderssen’s with bad memories of Mingyu, and now it’s going into an overdrive. Like, if he even went close to getting the tram there he’d probably physically convulse.

Just as he’s about to leave the front door as quickly and as undetected as possible, his mother confronts him in the hall. Arms crossed. Serious expression. “If you’re going out, can you go to Coop and get more toilet paper? And some milk?” He doesn’t want to, but it’s not as if he can say no. She continues, “Three packets should be enough.”

“Why Coop and not Lidl?” Soonyoung asks, slipping his shoes on with a frown. “Coop’s the other side of town.”

“It’s their seventh-year-in-this-town anniversary,” she replies. “Loads of deals on.” She leans over to pat his shoulder. “Good for your legs, too. Why don’t you ride your bike? It’s been a while.” 

“The red one?” Soonyoung scrunches his nose. “That old bike?”

He almost laughs. _‘It’s been a while’_. Shit, the last time he rode it was when he was 11.

“Maybe it’s too small…” she trails off, and utters a quick goodbye before walking down the corridor, back to the living room. 

“Too small.” He finds the bicycle in the garage. Hidden behind three boxes of Christmas tree decorations. It’s fit for an elementary school student. When he turned 9, when got the bike, he was small for his age. He outgrew it two years later. It’s like, like his parents don’t really know him at all. That’s a fact if he’s ever heard one. “You think?”

He leaves the bicycle there and walks to Coop instead.

It only takes 30 minutes by foot, but since he crosses into the Ebu district it’s like stepping into another dimension. Ebu – it’s all small, family-owned shops, cafés. Loads of trees. Not many people. Obscure little places. It’s far away from Soonyoung’s world of middle class parents and a sister who tends to forget of his existence. It simultaneously feels far away from the centre: Anderssen’s, Wonwoo’s house, their school. Ebu, it’s in a world of its own. He likes coming here. Coop, it’s hardly special. But the rest of it’s charming. A nice change.

Maybe a nice change is what he’s been needing this whole summer.

He scans Coop’s dairy refrigerators. He knows which milk brand his mother likes the best, and he sees it in the top right corner. But that’s not the one with a deal on. No, the one with the deal is the one in the bottom right corner. Does he want to chose her favourite like a good son, or save money like a good son? He’s always trying to be a good son. Shit. And he never succeeds.

Being a good son. What does that mean, anyway? Buying milk?

 

 

 

Seokmin swears he sees the guy from the library bench in Coop. Or, maybe he’s like. Hallucinating. Sleep deprivation, it does that to you. Should he go forward and check? Why would he be here? Seokmin squints. Can’t make out shit from here.

Soonyoung stands there, staring at the refrigerator. Maybe he could buy oat milk. Just to piss his mother off. Is that a dick move? Yeah, it’s a dick move. A serious dick move. Dickilicious. Maybe he should give up the whole good son thing. His mother doesn’t even know the last time he rode his bicycle.

 

 

 

Someone taps on his shoulder. “Excuse me.”

 

 

 

Seokmin decides against it, and instead lies to his manager and says he’s going for a smoke break. He’s been pretending to be a smoker since he got this part-time job. That’s what Chan had told him to do. He’d said: _“Gets you loads of free breaks.”_ Seungkwan had said: _“But he doesn’t smoke.”_ Chan had replied _: “Don’t let truth get in the way of a good story, Kwan.”_

Turns out Soonyoung had been standing in the way of an old man during the ten minutes of contemplating which milk brand to buy. Soonyoung, he apologises and grabs the milk from the bottom right, the one with a deal on – 3 for 2; it’s perfect, right? – and runs down the next aisle to get a packet of toilet paper. Then, he’s off. At the speed of light.

For a second, he thinks he sees Seokmin in the corner of the eye. He swears he does. But then he’s gone, so Soonyoung was most likely just seeing what he wanted to see. All that fresh air and walking. Not good for you. If Wonwoo were here, he would’ve said that. They would’ve laughed together.

This is what he does after Coop: eats lunch at this small café in Ebu called _Guest_ , walks around Ebu for an additional 45 minutes, then decides he’s had enough of the adventurous shit. Look, a nice change, okay? He’s trying. He contemplates taking the tram to Wonwoo’s. But, he should get the milk home first. Shit, he doesn’t have his access card with him. Shit. He could just glide on undetected, and pray today’s not the day they decide to start checking everyone’s access cards by the doors. Shit, shit, shit.

Soonyoung stands there. He doesn’t really do anything. He just stands.

Then, like God exists, or, or, or, something exists, there’s a cat next to him. Right where he’s standing on the pavement on a street in a block in the Ebu district which is practically another world. A black and white cat. This cat, it starts curling up to his leg. Maybe it can sense the 3-for-2 milk Soonyoung’s holding in the plastic bag. Or, they’re destined to be. This cat and Soonyoung. They’re destined to be. 

“Gabriel,” someone behind him says, clicking their tongue.

Gabriel? Is that the cat’s name? Or is someone trying to ask him out in an extremely weird way? Maybe, he really looks like Angel Gabriel. From the back. Maybe someone’ll his ass is heavenly. Some peoples pick up lines are extremely creative.

Soonyoung turns around, and is met with the sight of Seokmin, standing by the entrance to a shop, squatting down and cooing to the cat. His cat? His. Cat. Gabriel, Seokmin’s cat. Seokmin, right in front of him. 

Their eyes meet.

For a long, painful seconds, they hold their gazes there. Then Soonyoung has to look away.

He’s fucking _destroyed._

Seokmin is the first to speak up. He stands up and clears his throat. Gabriel is still standing by Soonyoung’s calves. “No sweatpants today?”

“Um,” Soonyoung says, flushing. “No.”

Seokmin leans against the door frame, and crosses his arms. “Don’t feel like stealing any of my property?”

“Uh,” Soonyoung says.

Seokmin raises an eyebrow.

“No?” Soonyoung says. “I’m, I’m not in the mood.” He racks his brain to think of something witty. This usually happens par automatic. Now, it takes a few seconds for the cogs in his head to spin. What the hell’s wrong with him? He’s destroyed, that’s what. “I’m only a dick on Wednesdays and Fridays, between business hours ten to eight.”

Seokmin looks like he’s trying to be all mad again, but then he laughs at this. He _laughs._ So, maybe the whole plan wasn’t in vain. Maybe Wonwoo teaching him everything there is to know about literature wasn’t in vain. Maybe the trip to Ebu wasn’t in vain. Maybe this whole summer isn’t in vain. He got Seokmin to laugh, and he got Seokmin’s cat to _mjau_ quietly by his legs.

Seokmin says, “Well, thank God it’s Tuesday.”

Soonyoung stutters. “Is it? I never know what the days of the weeks are during the holidays. Or, I know what the days of the weeks are. But not which days we’re on. Sometimes I know the dates. Like, I know the order. Of the days. Like.” He breathes out. “Yeah.”

Seokmin laughs again. “What’s your name, Sweatpants?”

Soonyoung winces. The whole sweatpants thing, that was Wonwoo’s idea. Says it makes your junk look bigger. He read it in a magazine. Yeah, yeah, yeah. He got Seokmin to laugh, so who cares? “Doesn’t that take the fun out of it?”

If Soonyoung tells his name, the backup plan – _the checkout cards! of course!_  – was created in vain. No name telling. Not yet, at least.

“Takes the fun out of what?”

Soonyoung shrugs. “Summer. Ephemeral romance. That shit.”

“Ephemeral romance?”

Did he say that? Why did he say that?

“Yeah. Summer.”

“But, you know my name, and I don’t know yours. It would be fine if we were both anonymous. But now you’re just, just someone without a name. Now you’re just the guy from the library. The asshole who stole and read my notebook. What’s the fun in that?”

“That’s more fun than you knowing my name. I have character.”

“Character?” Seokmin says, cracking a grin.

“Sure,” Soonyoung replies, and that’s when Gabriel retreats from his leg and starts walking towards the door. He changes the subject. He changes the subject to the conversation he’s currently having with Seokmin. Who, a couple of seconds ago, discretely called him an asshole. Fuck. Fuck, fuck. “So, you work here?”

“Granddad owns this shop,” Seokmin explains, waving around. _Hermes Antiques_. It’s a good name. “We live here, too.” He indicates to the apartment above the shop. “So, you could say I ‘work here’.” Air quotes. Another smile. _Fuck!_

Soonyoung hums, quietly taking in the information and trying to focus his best on checking out the outside decor of the building.

He notices Seokmin looking at him, looking at the shop window. He clears his throat for the second time. “You coming in, or not?” 

Soonyoung’s eyes widen. Why would he do that? “Yeah. I mean, yeah. I’m coming in, yes.” He can’t speak. He really can’t _speak._ This is only their second actual conversation, and he’s lost his tongue. He stumbles when walking forward to the door.

The antiques shop, it reminds him of days he’s spent in the cellar, cleaning out old shit with his family. Dust. Scent of mothballs. Loads of junk. Except this junk has price tags. Seokmin’s talking to him. “It’s always been my Granddad’s dream to own this shop.” ‘Granddad’. He imagines being so close to someone. No ‘mother’, no ‘father’. “He’s way too old to still work here, but he does anyway.” 

“Where’s he now?” Small talk. That’s okay. He can manage small talk. Soonyoung sees a box on the floor. It’s full of vinyls.

Seokmin shrugs. “He’s always out and about. Knows everyone in Ebu. He could be watering flowers at the Bumblebee Park, or playing poker with old friends. Who knows.” 

Soonyoung smiles at that. What a life to live. Too bad he’s 17. Things you have to do but nothing you want to do. “Vinyls, this is good shit.” Seokmin’s standing leaned against a counter, regarding him flipping through the box filled with LPs. “There’s that crackly sound, you know? You don’t get that with CDs.” Okay. Music. He can talk easily about music. 

Seokmin nods. “Not many people own record players, though. Records don’t sell that well. People donate them, just to get rid of them for iTunes and Spotify, and then they sit in the shop collecting dust. It’s a shame. Everything nowadays, it’s so perfect. Perfect sound. Working perfectly fine. It’s good to have things that are just shit. Scratched. Bleached from the sun.” 

“It’s a shame,” Soonyoung agrees. He pulls out _Bolling: Suite No. 2 for Flute & Jazz Piano. _ That’s one of his favourites. The flute, it has this really nice sound. “ _‘Amoureuse.’_ This song, it always makes me feel like I’m somewhere else.” Why’d he say that? Fucking gay.

“I haven’t listened to it,” Seokmin says. 

Soonyoung’s eyes widen. “Huh?” Who the hell hasn’t listened to Claude Bolling and Jean-Pierre Rampal’s spectacular crossover, with piano and flute? “Well, where’s your record player? We’re playing this.” 

Seokmin looks at the album cover, then back to Soonyoung, and laughs again. “Okay. We’re playing this.”

And then they sit down on one of the sofas in the antiques shop, he and Seokmin, and listen to _Amoureuse_ together. It’s not a huge song for the drums. But the classic flute and jazz piano, they compliment each other so well, so he doesn’t mind the lack of percussion playing a big role. Soonyoung chips in with a few comments, “This part,” and, “I love this,” and, “This part!” And after it’s finished, Soonyoung gets up to get the first Suite. He plays _Baroque and Blue,_ and says, “This one of my favourites. Baroque and jazz. Listen to this part, doesn’t it sound like game music? And then this, oh, _this_.” He taps the rhythm against his thigh.

“I have to admit something,” Seokmin says, “I don’t really listen to jazz.”

Soonyoung stops tapping. “You don’t. You don’t  _what_? You don’t listen to _jazz?_ ”

Seokmin shrugs. “I’m more into classical. So, I play the piano. Not jazz. Mostly, um, classical, I guess.” 

Soonyoung says, incredulously, “But jazz piano. You can hear it now.” His summer romance, he has to like _jazz._ What else are they going to listen to together? Mozart? God. Classical piano. He always thinks of his sister’s piano recitals. They had these like, six year olds clutching sheet music to Beethoven with whitening fists. _Moonlight Sonata_ , again and again. _Für Elise_. “Jazz piano!”

“I just, I don’t.” Seokmin hums, looking like he’s trying to find  _words_. Well, God, he _should_  be struggling to think of arguments. “Classical music has more structure.”

Soonyoung stares at Seokmin. “But, that’s what’s so great about jazz. It has structure, but it’s unpredictable. Classical, it’s all predictable. Starts in minor, last chord is major. C major. A minor. That’s it. New age, I can get. Modern. Renaissance, I can stand. But classical?” Soonyoung pretends to fan himself. “ _S_ _ie haven unrecht!_ ”

“Not _all_ classical music is the same, and it’s not all predictable. Have you listened to _Mozart’s Requiem_?” Seokmin folds his arms. Okay, to Seokmin, first Soonyoung was the asshole who read his private notebook, and now he’s the asshole dissing classical music. In his shop. “They may seem boring to us now, but for their time, they’re geniuses. Beethoven, deaf. Mozart, a child prodigy. There’s not many people who can live up to a legacy like that. I mean, they were seriously ahead of their time.”

 _Sentimentale_ comes on. They’re quiet for a few seconds. And Soonyoung, he can’t fucking think of anything to argue back. It’s like, this has never happened before. He just looks at Seokmin, and his heart twitches, and he let’s it rest. Instead of snapping something back – like he would with  _anyone else_ – he says, cooly, “What d’you think about this?” Seokmin listens to the music, then says that he thinks it’s okay. “Man, maybe you really should listen to jazz more. Jazz piano. Then, learn to play it.” What has _happened_  to him?

Seokmin looks over to him again. “Maybe you should give me more recommendations.”

“I’m glad you asked.”

On a tissue paper he had crumbled up in his pocket, he writes down a list of his three favourite jazz piano albums. Just piano. He’ll get to big bands and brass soloists later. “Listen to these by tomorrow.” He pauses. “I’ll, I’ll come back.”

“Okay. Only if you listen to _Mozart’s Requiem,”_  Seokmin says, smiling. 

“Okay.”

“Okay? Are you sure? It’s an hour long.”

Soonyoung winces. “I have an hour. Shit, I have too much spare time.”

“For me, it feels like the opposite. I’ll write as I’m listening, I promise.” 

“What’re you writing?”

“I thought you already knew.” He doesn’t look angry about it. 

“Um, I guess.”

“I’m trying to win a competition.”

That’s all he says, but Soonyoung decides to not dig deeper when this is only their second meeting. If he wants to say, he’ll say. So, Soonyoung just nods like he understands everything. _Ennui._ Then he gets up from the sofa. “What time is it?”

“Maybe like, six?” Seokmin says.

Turns out he’s right, which means Soonyoung has been in Ebu for hours when he should’ve been there for 10 minutes to buy some milk and toilet paper. “Okay.” He starts walking around, grabbing the plastic bag and nearly swatting Gabriel, curled up in a ball underneath a table, with it. “Okay, I really should go.” No access card. No bike. He’ll have to walk. 

“Where do you live, stranger?” Seokmin says.

“Shima,” Soonyoung says.

Seokmin lets out a low whistle. “That side of town? You live in a villa, or what?”

He wouldn’t exactly describe his yellow, two story house as a villa, but what’s he supposed to say? It’s hardly an apartment like Seokmin’s. So, he awkwardly nods and says, “It takes half an hour by foot.” 

Now, if this were a film or a romance novel or a poem or a TV series, Seokmin would’ve offered to ride him home on a bicycle or motorbike or walked him back to his house, despite them not knowing anything about each other, and then they would’ve kissed the fuck out of him under the flickering light of a streetlamp above them. _“Life isn’t a rom-com.”_ What happens is that Soonyoung says he’ll listen to _Mozart’s Requiem_ tonight, and awkwardly says that he’ll come back tomorrow. Seokmin says goodbye, not half as angry as he was by the library, and then Soonyoung walks home. It’s not even dark out yet. 

When he’s 15 minutes away from his house, Soonyoung realises what he’s just done. He immediately calls Wonwoo. He picks up after a couple of rings.

 _“What is it?”_  

“Wonwoo, I’m in love. Also, I need a new bicycle. Walking to Ebu takes too long.” 

Wonwoo sounds bored. _“Did the cashier at Coop smile ‘a little too long’?”_ So, okay, it’s not very surprising he’s not underwhelmed by Soonyoung’s statement. ‘Wonwoo, I’m in love’. How many times has he pulled that one before? 

“Wonwoo, come over,” Soonyoung says. That’s the thing. These kind of things, they can’t be described in a phone call. “Bring your bicycle.”

The moment he gets home, Soonyoung’s mother is digging into him. First, for taking such a long time, and at that not even storing the milk in a refrigerator, which she can somehow know all about. Second, for buying the wrong type of milk since, apparently, the milk he bought doesn’t taste as nice with coffee. Even though he saved money. Third, for only buying one packet of toilet paper. _“How is that going to last us?”_ So, the whole good son thing. It never really works out for him. 

Then he says to his mother that Wonwoo’s coming over and that they’re going out, and that _really_ gets her going. Look, maybe it wasn’t the best thing to say. But if he just left, wouldn’t that’ve been worse?

“You’re always doing this, Soonyoung,” she’s saying. “When I confront you, you just go and hide somewhere.”

Confrontation. He doesn’t even hate it. He just having to explain things to his mother and father, and them not even listening. And when he goes off to ‘hide somewhere’, he’s talking to someone about the issues he can never talk to them about. Those days of him being 13, 14, and infatuated with Kim Mingyu, he never uttered a single word to his parents. His sister, maybe she knew. The wall between their bedroom is thin. But his mother and father, he didn’t know how the hell they’d react. Which scared the hell out of him. “I’m sorry!” Soonyoung says, irritated, putting his shoes on. “But it’s. Really important.”

She sighs deeply. “Everything’s so _important_. And where do you think you’re going to eat dinner?”

“Wonwoo’s house?” Soonyoung says.

“So, now you’re staying over there, too?”

“Maybe.”

“Why do you always pick a fight with me? Why not your father, huh?” she says. “I’m always getting the blame in this household. _Always_.”

He wants to say she was the one who started picking a fight with him. But it’s not worth it. “I’ll call.”

She glares at him. “You better.”

On that positive note, he leaves the house and calls Wonwoo, telling him that the plans have changed. They meet up at the park instead. Wonwoo doesn’t make any indication of happiness to see him. He gets off his bicycle and walks up to Soonyoung, who is sitting on one of the swings, humming to himself. “All right?”

“Half left,” Soonyoung replies.

That’s kind of one of their things.

“You’re fucking weird,” Wonwoo says, sitting down on the other swing. “Why d’you want a bicycle, all of a sudden? Maybe I had better things to do. Jesus.” Well. Obviously he didn’t. Since he’s here.

“Like what?” Soonyoung says. “Jacking off to pictures of Mei?” Then, before Wonwoo even can react to that comment, he starts telling him everything. Everything. It just spills out. Seriously – he says _everything._

Wonwoo is quiet. That Wonwoo, he’s a good listener. When he realises Soonyoung has finished rambling about Gabriel and Seokmin and Claude Bolling and the striped shirt Seokmin was wearing andandandandandand the wrong milk and the antiques shop and the walk home from Ebu and his mother, Wonwoo sits in silence for a few seconds. Then he says, “Well, have you listened to _Mozart’s Requiem_ yet?”

Wonwoo. Of course that would be his reply.

“Not yet,” Soonyoung says, picking at his nails. “Did you listen? I came home, and then went out again straight away.” 

“Sure,” Wonwoo says, “just checking.” Then he asks, “So, what’s the deal? You’re just going to hang out with Seokmin the rest of the summer?”

Soonyoung looks at him weirdly. “You jealous, _Schwuchtel_ , or what?” 

Wonwoo laughs. “You’re so different around me and around guys you like. What would Seokmin think if he found out you called me fag in German? Or, I guess he already knows you’re a fucking piece of shit after the notebook thing.”

“He doesn’t even hate me anymore," Soonyoung states, and ignores Wonwoo’s look of utter disbelief. "And, what would he say? Wonwoo, he’d agree with me. I mean, that you’re a–”

Wonwoo starts speaking louder than him, “I’m just asking ‘cause if you say yes, then I’ll give you my bike to have the rest of the summer.”

“Really?” Soonyoung asks.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m nice. I know.”

“Wonwoo, you’re the best.” Soonyoung jumps up and picks up the bike from the sand where Wonwoo tossed it before getting on the swing. “How long d’you think it takes to Ebu? 10 minutes?” He presses his fingertips against the handle. “And, it’s free? Yeah. Of course. Now, that’s sexy.”

“Don’t do that. You look objectosexual.”

He repeats himself. “Wonwoo, you’re the best.”

Wonwoo ignores him, and sighs. “God, we’re a fucking sad lot.”

Soonyoung says, “Wanna shotgun Red Bull, and stay awake all night, and think about how life sucks?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

 

 

 

Seokmin’s not waiting or anything, but it’s almost four p.m. and he’s considering ditching Library Boy and just calling Chan and Seungkwan over instead. He said he’d be back. Seokmin hasn’t eaten lunch yet. He’s just been inside, listening to the rain, writing, and listening to his favourite of the albums Notebook Prick recommended to him. Shit. He could’ve gone to the library instead. Like yesterday, no customers. He doesn’t know why these past days have been so dead. Everyone’s away for the holidays, he guesses. That must be nice, going away. The furthest Seokmin’s been from home was this three hour train ride to his Granddad’s ex-wife’s house up north. That was nice. Loads of snow. Cows. Farmyards. Those kind of things.

 _Deadline’s in September,_ he repeats to himself. Time’s running out. He’s dreaming, but not working enough to make the dream come to life. Instead, he’s just sitting here. He’s just  _sitting._

The door slams open. Gabriel goes hurtling off his lap in shock, and in _he_ walks, shivering, completely drowned in rain water. There’s like, these huge stains everywhere. Grass, mud? And his hair, it’s completely tangled up. It’s almost like this scene from a horror movie. But, there’s no thunder or lightning. Just a soft pitter-patter of rain. 

Seokmin stands up. 

“Hey,” Jazz Elitist says.

“Hey,” Seokmin says. He decides to make a shitty joke: “Get caught in a tsunami on the way here?” 

“I haven’t ridden a bike in a long time,” he explains. “I slipped in a puddle and fell into this ditch.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m _not._ ”

“Well, shit, are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Seokmin walks up to him, and pulls the hair out of his face. There’s this huge gash on his forehead. A huge gash, still bleeding. “Fuck!”

His eyes widen when he sees the blood on Seokmin’s fingers. “Fuck, what do we do?”

“Are you okay?” Seokmin panics. “Like, are you having a concussion? What do I do? _I_ don’t know what to do. What do we do?”

“Okay, okay,” he says. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

Seokmin has to rummage through piles of his granddad’s shit before finding anything remotely resembling bandages. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, helping him put the bandages around his head. “Are you feeling nauseated? Like, are you seeing okay? What else is there? Shit, can you breathe properly?” He brushes away more of the guy’s hair. Gentle touches. Brushing, brushing, brushing. He doesn’t want to hurt this guy he’s barely gotten to know yet. “Are you okay?”

 

 

 

Seokmin, he’s so fucking soft, so gentle, and Soonyoung, probably bleeding internally still, finds himself blushing and squirming beneath his fingers. Maybe he’s really gone crazy, now. Maybe he has. Because he finds himself saying, “Seokmin, I like you, I really do, so much I might have gone crazy. I seriously think I’ve gone mad.” 

Well. That’s in his head. Out loud, he just stutters out an _I’m fine._ Then he says, “Did you listen to the albums?”

Seokmin tuts. “That’s what you want to talk about?”

Soonyoung shrugs and says, “Sure. I’m fine. Honestly.” That’s the truth. He barely hurt himself. He just feels really like, wet. Like, all soggy all over. Seokmin seems to be noticing this too, glancing at his clothes between brushes of his hair. “I listened to _Mozart’s Requiem_.” Seokmin looks at him, dead in the eye. Dead in the eye. That expression, it’s serious business. “I really liked _Dies Irae_ and _Confutatis_. The rest were okay.”

He’s lying. His absolute favourite was _Lacrimosa._ But, isn’t that everyone’s favourite?

“Hmm,” Seokmin says, and stands back for a second, inspecting Soonyoung’s now bandaged forehead. “My favourite’s _Domine Jesu Christe._ ”

“Don’t even remember that one,” Soonyoung says. 

Seokmin laughs. “If you heard it, you would. It’s special.” He hums for a few seconds, and looks at Soonyoung, shivering still. Drenched. “You want to borrow some clothes, or what?” Then, a small smile. God, Soonyoung could fucking _die._

“Uh, sure,” he says casually.

Summer. They go upstairs. He’s going to go into Seokmin’s bedroom. Summer. Summer, romance. Summer!

Seokmin has the decency to turn around when Soonyoung changes into a dry hoodie and dry jeans. They’re a little bit tight on him – Seokmin’s figure is generally slimmer at more places than his – but it’s fine. He’s fine. It’s _fine!_ He’s in Seokmin’s room. “You finished?” he asks before turning around again. Seokmin’s room, it’s pretty small. But everything is so him. A desk with books spread all over. Shit. Books from Anderssen’s, without a doubt. He recognises all of them. It means he and Wonwoo’s backup plan was completely intact. Or, when he thinks about it, does he really need that plan now that he and Seokmin are on seemingly good terms? Isn’t it just stupid to like, hide his identity?

Seokmin turns around. “You know, one of the pieces you recommended. I _really_ liked it.” He has these eye crinkles when he grins. It’s not okay. Shit, it’s not. Who even says ‘pieces’ and not ‘songs’? _He_ does. 

Soonyoung tries to clear his mind. “Oh? Which one?”

“Guess.” Smirk.

“Was it, was it Ryo Fukui? _Scenery_?”

“It is!” Laugh. “How’d you know?”

“I just.” Pause. “Okay, I just guessed. But I kind of felt you’d like him.”

“Okay, but which one?”

“ _I Want to Talk About You_?” That song, it’s the most romantic one Soonyoung knows. There’s no lyrics. There’s no ‘I love you’s. But, hell, is it romantic. It makes you feel like you’re in love. Now, if he listened to it, it would be like being in love _squared_ , or, or, or something. That would be too goddamn powerful.

“Nope.” 

“It’s not?” 

“Nope. I remember the title of my favourite one.”

“ _Early Summer_?”

 “Yup.”

“ _Early Summer_?” Soonyoung repeats. “I love that song. It has this like, six minute drum solo. You notice that? I’ve said I play the drums, right?”

“I don’t know if you mentioned it or not.” Seokmin’s sitting on his bed, and Soonyoung thumbs at the strings of the hoodie awkwardly, before sitting down next to him. He keeps a little space, though. “Maybe not? Anyway, _Early Summer_ was great. Really. Too bad it’s almost August. Maybe we should’ve met earlier on, just to make the title fit.”

‘Too bad’. _Tell me about it,_  Soonyoung thinks, still playing with Seokmin’s hoodie. He thinks about the green jumper. And everything Wonwoo taught him about literature. It’s time to put that shit to good use. He pretends to look over at the desk for the first time. Soonyoung almost chokes on his own spit as he says, “So, Chekhov, huh? _The Black Monk_ is one of my personal favourites.”

 _‘Personal favourites’_? What the hell’s he doing? 

He sounds like a fraud. He feels like a fraud. Look, maybe he _is_ a fraud. What Wonwoo said: _“You’re so different around me and around guys you like.”_

Seokmin’s eyes widen. “I love that short story.”

Wait, no! Don’t do that! Don’tdothat! God – he looks really happy. Soonyoung, he really, _really_  should untangle himself before he tangles himself into something he can never get out of. He really should. Now. Seriously. Okay. Fuck it. Now. “ _Wait!_ Don’t say that.” Soonyoung squeezes his eyes shut. “Seokmin, I have to say something. But don’t get mad. I feel like a fraud.”

“Fraud?” Seokmin, he’s probably frowning in confusion. Probably looks cute.

“I don’t know shit about literature,” Soonyoung says, and feels every word he needs to say coming out of him, just like that. It just comes up. “I really don’t! I just said that to impress you. Chekhov? Who the hell is that? What am I even talking about, saying I love Chekhov?” Seokmin stares at him. “And, and, just to get your attention, I borrowed a shit tonne of books at the library. And I messed it all up with the notebook thing. I mean, seriously, I borrowed all kinds of books so my name would be before yours on the checkout cards. The checkout cards! Did you notice them? I borrowed like, every book in that library, and I still messed up, and now I’m still here, messing up, and talking way too much, and way too quickly, and Seokmin, God, I’m such an _idiot._ My best friend Wonwoo, he taught me loads of things about literature, said I’d be a book-fucker, paper cuts on my dick, after this summer, but I don’t even know who fucking Chekhov is. I just said that! I like, like reading, like, _One Piece._ ”

Seokmin probably stares at him, trying to process everything. Then he’s quiet for a few seconds, and Soonyoung still has his eyes forcefully closed. There’s only the sound of rain coming from outside. The shop’s still open downstairs, but there’s most likely no customers so there’s no point in going downstairs. Seokmin’s granddad isn’t here. It’s just them, and the rain, and Gabriel who didn’t follow them upstairs.

Then Seokmin starts laughing. “Soonyoung? Kwon Soonyoung? That’s _you_?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Soonyoung says, groaning, and now would be an extremely convenient time to shut the fuck up, but he’s already rambling so he just continues, “but, that’s not even the worst thing I’ve done to grab a guy’s attention. It seems unbelievable, but it’s the truth. _This_ is a truth. I swear. When I was 13, I drank candle wax to impress this guy I liked. And, then he became my boyfriend, but that’s not the point. My best friend, Wonwoo, he bullies me for it to this day. We call it the CI. The Candle Incident. I’m so fucking _stupid_. I thought drinking wax would be a fucking funny thing, but I had to be rushed to hospital, and it’s so idiotic, and the guy broke up with me like a few months later, in the summer, so what the hell was the point in doing that?”

Seokmin’s still laughing. Hysterically laughing, and at Soonyoung’s despair. Seriously. He looks like he might burst a lung. “You, you, what? _Candle wax_? Why the fuck would you do that?”

Soonyoung flops back in Seokmin’s bed, and covers his face with his hands. “I don’t know! Ask me, four years ago. I don’t know. I could’ve died, or something, the doctors said. My parents had to pay all these bills. I’m so stupid.”

After Seokmin’s calmed down, and Soonyoung’s calmed down, and he’s stopped asking Soonyoung all these questions about the CI, he’s suddenly all serious. “So, you lied to me about liking _The Black Monk_ ? That’s a crime, Kwon Soonyoung.” Then, he kind of giggles. He _does._ “Kwon Soonyoung – that’s really you? Oh, God, my friends are going to love this. Chan, he’s the most dramatic person. He had this theory that ‘Kwon Soonyoung’ was doing it all to get my attention. And, you’re the guy who stole my notebook, too? He’ll never live it down. He won’t.”

Soonyoung lets out a tiny laugh. It’s what he can muster, for now.

Seokmin is facing him on the bed. “Did you ever think to just, talk to me? Straight up?”

Soonyoung groans. “No?”

Seokmin does that giggle again, and then says, “You’re kind of stupid. Who doesn’t just talk to someone? You learnt all those things, and then you could’ve just talked to me about music, like we ended up doing. And, the candle–”

“–I was _thirteen years of ag_ –”

“–thing isn’t actually the stupidest thing I’ve heard,” Seokmin says, grinning, his entire face all lit up. “My best friend, Seungkwan, once had a crush on this guy. So, he invited him over for dinner. Wait–” Seokmin, he seems to be thinking back on it, and can’t contain himself from laughing a little– “okay, sorry. So, he was 15? It must’ve been two, three years ago. Yeah. He’d just turned 15, and he invited this guy over and decided making a three course meal would be a good idea. Because, sure, that’s great to do when you’re 15. But, yeah, anyway, it turned out the guy was vegetarian. And allergic to nuts. So, he couldn’t eat neither the main meal nor the dessert Seungkwan had made. Seungkwan scrapped the whole idea and just made toast. And–” another laugh, even louder– “he burnt the toast. And then, he decided to make instant ramen, but he boiled the water in the microwave and, for some reason, the whole fucking thing exploded.”

 _“What?”_ Soonyoung says. “Because he boiled water in the microwave? I think I’ve done that shit, too.”

“I don’t know how,” Seokmin says, “but it’s pretty fuckin’ funny. You think he would’ve checked everything beforehand. Nut allergies, _and_ vegetarian? Anyway, in the end, they went out to get Chinese instead. And, you know what’s really funny?” 

“The Chinese restaurant burned down, or what?”

“Nope. That guy Seungkwan asked on a date, he’s actually our best friend, still.”

“You’re serious? The other one? The dramatic one?”

“Yup. Chan. That’s how we all met. I picked Seungkwan up from the Chinese restaurant, Formosa, where we still go today, and I laughed so hard at him recapping the story that I almost pissed myself. Chan was just standing there on the pavement. Chan was in one of my classes, and he seemed like an okay guy. And everything seemed to tense. So, I invited them all home with me, and then we just clicked. The three of us together.”

Soonyoung smiles. “At least you got something good out of it. What did I get out of the CI?”

Seokmin hums, running a hand through his hair. “You know what you got? A really good story to tell to people. Isn’t that something valuable?” He looks right at Soonyoung as he says it. Yeah, it’s something pretty fuckin’ valuable. It’s still raining outside. He should get back to eat dinner, soon. But all he wants to do is just, be here. 

He thinks he’s smarter, but maybe he’s just gotten even dumber since Mingyu.

 

 

 

When Seokmin was young, his granddad always used to play records on their record player. Really loud, in the shop. Rock. Jazz. Classical. His granddad, he likes everything. But then, he just seemed to forget it. So, during the last weeks of this summer holiday, Seokmin makes them both fall in love with listening to vinyls again. With the help of Kwon Soonyoung. 

Soonyoung, he comes over often. He’s fallen in love with biking. He says so himself. After the first incident, he only came out stronger on the other side. They sometimes bike around Ebu, the two of them, but never further than that. Not to the library. In fact, Seokmin hasn’t been back to the library since he fought Soonyoung there the first time. He’s writing this new story. It’s kind of based on reality, but he’s changed a few things. With this story, it’s not hard to think of words or phrases or synonyms or characters – he just writes. He just writes. Now, that’s a great feeling. If anything in life is a great feeling – that is.

Chan and Seungkwan come over as often they used to, but somehow never meet Soonyoung. Their schedules never overlap. It’s weird. Anyway, Soonyoung meets his friend too. Wonwoo. He’s heard a lot about Wonwoo. Maybe all five of them should meet up together. Like, eat at Formosa. Like, go to the aquarium. Soonyoung really wants to go to the aquarium. He said so as they were on their bicycles, riding around town with no real destination. Just: _“We have to go to the aquarium someday.”_ Seokmin just said that he probably can after he receives his paycheck from Coop.

Another thing he falls in love with the last few weeks of the summer is jazz music. Yeah, yeah. That’s thanks to Soonyoung, too. Thanks to Soonyoung. There’s a lot of things to thank Soonyoung for. But, maybe Soonyoung falls in love with classical, too. Maybe they’ve just fallen in love with sitting there, listening to music together. Classical and slash or jazz. Granddad’s old LPs.

Maybe they’ve just fallen in love with falling in love with things.

When he says this to Chan, Chan rolls his eyes and hits him right in the stomach. They’re all sitting together, drinking ice tea in Seokmin’s kitchen. That’s just one of their things. “Who the hell does this Soonyoung think he is, making you say all these things? ‘Fallen in love with falling in love’? What happened to getting laid, _then_ falling in love?”

Seungkwan copies him, and hits Chan in the stomach. “ _Shhh._ Let him be in love.”

Seokmin says, “I never _said_ I was,” he air-quotes, “‘in love’.”

Seungkwan and Chan just look at him. Seungkwan says, “Yes. You did.”

“No?” It comes out sounding like a question.

Chan says, “The way you talk about Soonyoung, you think he’d be the mayor of Queersville.”

Seokmin splutters. So, maybe he likes Soonyoung. And talks about him a lot. Excruciatingly much. Painfully, awfully much, according to their glances at each other when he launches into another story of something Soonyoung did. Is that a crime? Okay, maybe not a crime. Maybe worse. Maybe he’s just been extremely annoying. “I’m _sorry_.”

“It’s okay,” Chan says. “Just, do something about it, okay? Are we going to sit here and listen to you talk about how much you want to suck his dick?” 

“I never said I wanted to–” Seokmin starts, but Chan shuts him up. 

“What I mean is, just go suck his dick, listen to jazz together and whatever, but put _us_ out of our misery. Soonyoung this, Soonyoung that.” Chan is always honest. Seokmin loves that about him. And Seungkwan, he nods along thoughtfully. “Do something, Seokmin. Go for it.”

When he meets up with Soonyoung later that night, he doesn’t suck his dick. But he does offer for them to go out and eat together. Which is what they do.

They talk a lot. They talk and talk and talk. And eat. Like they always do. But this, it somehow feels different. Soonyoung keeps brushing his knees against Seokmin’s. Maybe it’s a coincidence. But this, now he’s feeling it. He’s felt it before but now he’s _feeling_ it. They split the bill. And when they ride their bikes back from the Indian-Persian restaurant, Soonyoung asks if they can stop by Coop so he can buy some Yakult. Yakult. He can roll with that.

They stand outside by their bikes, drinking Yakult. And when they ride home, it’s so dark out that the streetlights have been turned on. Some bright. Some flickering. Seokmin asks if Soonyoung’s going home, and he hesitates before saying he’ll stay at Seokmin’s for a while.

“Any particular reason?” Seokmin asks, when they’ve dumped their bicycles outside and are walking into the shop. His granddad’s probably asleep by now, so Seokmin indicates to keep their voices down.

“Me and my mother, we had an argument.” Soonyoung shrugs. It seems he has some issues with his family. Like, they didn’t know he had a boyfriend for a couple of months. Like, the one time he tried to come out to them, they told him to stop being silly. He doesn’t even know his own sister that well. He’s hardly allowed to practise the drums at home without them getting angry. Soonyoung had told him all of this nonchalantly, but it looked like cared, somewhere. Of course he does. “I don’t know. I don’t feel like going home. Can I sleep over? I’ll just tell her I’m staying at Wonwoo’s. Shit, that’ll make her even angrier.”

“Sure,” Seokmin says, slipping his shoes off and greeting Gabriel by picking him up and pecking small kisses onto his head. Gabriel looks less than happy about it. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Um, no.” Soonyoung is staring at him and Gabriel. “Not really.”

“That’s okay,” Seokmin says. “Should we go straight up to my room? You can borrow something to wear to bed.”

“Can we just stay here? Listen to Fukui?”

That’s what they do. They sit on the same sofa, listening to the same piece over and over again. The needle switches to the next one, but Soonyoung always gets up to put _I Want To Talk About You_ back on. Over and over and over.

Unlike the first time they sat here, now they’re sitting close. So close that the sides of their thighs are touching each other.

Soonyoung turns over and looks at him. “This is the most romantic song, ever. Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s just a remake of another song with the same title. John Coltrane. And, I love the saxophone, I do. But, for some reason, I just like this version more. Just piano. Just the chords. Fukui, he did it well. What about you? What d’you think?” He cracks a tiny, Soonyoung-esque grin. He’s not looking sad, at least. “Or, do you think Schubert is a pretty romantic guy? Isn’t that time era called _Romanticism_?”

They’re sitting so close. They’re so close. These past weeks, they’ve been so close, but not as close as when Soonyoung stares at him now, and the most romantic piece of music ever made is on so-called manual loop-ish in the background, and Soonyoung is somehow looking at his lips, or, or, maybe that’s his imagination, or maybe that’s something that’s _seriously_ happening right now. 

Seokmin doesn’t think any further. He leans in and kisses him.

Soonyoung blinks. “Huh?”

Seokmin panics. “Sorry, wasn’t I meant to do that?”

Soonyoung blinks again. “Seokmin, I think I’m in love with you.”

Seokmin stares at him. The grandfather clock in the antiques shop ticks in the background. Before now, it’s never felt so _loud_ before. And Gabriel, by their feet, lets out a tiny _mjau_ before leaving to go into the kitchen, like he’s sensing the situation. And outside, there’s no rain falling. There’s nothing apart from the weight of Soonyoung’s words in the air.

“Or, maybe I don’t love you,” Soonyoung says hurriedly. “But I know that I like you. I mean, I’ve known that since the checkout cards. You’ve known that since I told you about the checkout cards. Okay, fuck this. Fuck this. I’m serious. Fuck this. Want to just kiss again?”

Seokmin laughs. “Soonyoung, you always ramble when you’re nervous. Just don’t start doing shots with the candle wax quite yet.” He puts his hand on Soonyoung’s thigh, and Soonyoung visibly gulps. “I like, like you. I like you.” He stuttered, just then. Who cares? Who _cares?_

In the background, the song switches to _Early Summer._ None of them care enough to stand up and switch it back.

“Oh, it’s my favourite,” Seokmin says, facing him properly, leaning in again. And that’s how they share their second kiss. In the closed antiques shop. His granddad asleep upstairs. On an unsold sofa which has now kind of become their official hangout spot. With unsold records playing.

And then they start _really_ kissing. Like, Soonyoung fumbles even closer to Seokmin – is that even physically possible, at this point?; in this day and age? – and starts feeling underneath his shirt. “Is this okay?” 

“Mhm,” Seokmin breathes. “You know, you’re wearing my hoodie. You stole that from me. Do you like stealing my things, or what’s the deal?”

“It smells like you,” Soonyoung says, in between kisses pressed to Seokmin’s neck. “Soap. Citrus. Mothballs.”

“Mothballs?” Seokmin laughs, and then he gasps because Soonyoung is kissing right at this one point in his neck and it feels so good that he can’t help but gasp. It’s something he’s never experienced before. Everything, it’s is so new. Everything is new. Apart from them, the sofa and the records. 

They spend a very long amount of time, trying new things. Nothing too explicit. But, for Seokmin? New things. Soonyoung keeps asking him if everything’s okay. _Is this okay? Is this okay?_ They mostly just kiss. Kiss, kiss, kiss, like kissing is like oxygen and they need it. In that moment, it’s like they need kissing more than oxygen. That’s sounds pretty good. Chan would punch him in the neck if he said it out loud.

“God, why did we wait so long to do this?” Seokmin says, as they pull away, both a little breathless and a little in love, maybe, and a little everything. “You should’ve talked to me the first time you saw me. You should’ve gone to the library earlier.”

“Before that, I was just playing Overwatch in my room, alone, or dicking around with Wonwoo,” Soonyoung explains, gently running his hand through Seokmin’s hair, “then I just decided we couldn’t be sad virgins any longer. We just couldn’t. And, Wonwoo was the one who decided to go to the library. Thank _fuck_ he did. Anderssen’s, of all places, that Republican shithole, to bring us together. Now that’s irony.”

“Mm,” Seokmin hums, agreeing, and laughing at his choice of words. Because it’s true. It is. “That _is_ ironic. Anderssen’s.”

“And you were reading that novel, _Lolita._ And you looked gorgeous.”

Even after roughly half an hour of making out, that statement makes Seokmin’s face flush. Then he says, ears burning, “The funny thing is that, I wasn’t even actually reading the book. I was just pretending to.” 

Soonyoung cups his cheeks and says “Seriously?”, and doesn’t even wait for Seokmin’s reply before leaning in so he can kiss him again. And that’s where the spend the rest of the evening before they both get tired – not of talking and kissing but of being awake – and decide to go upstairs. The needle doesn’t lift automatically from the record player and they forget, or are too distracted to lift it off, so the record just spins around all night, and Seokmin falls asleep with Soonyoung in his arms, wearing his hoodie, and it’s a fucking _miracle_. No Christmases and no ghosts and no carols needed. A summer miracle? Or, just a general miracle. Do those exist, too?

 

 

 

The thing thing he feels when he wakes up is warmth. Extreme warmth. _Heat._ Light pouring through the window, straight onto his face. Soonyoung opens his eyes slowly, and groans and drags the duvet off his body and chucks it onto the floor. It’s one of those hot summer days. He can feel it. This past week, it’s been pretty chilly compared to June, early July. But now? It’s hot. 

That’s the first thing he thinks about. Then he realises he’s alone in Seokmin’s bed. And he rubs his eyes, and he’s still there. And then he hears singing from downstairs. Or, it’s more of trying-to-be-quiet-but-not-being-very-good-at-it singing. Seokmin’s voice from the kitchen, it’s making its way upstairs, and Soonyoung grins. Then, he smells frying eggs. Butter. Eggs. The distinct sound of an old hob being turned on. Salt and pepper.

He heaves himself out of the bed and walks downstairs. Seokmin is standing by the stove, frying eggs. Soonyoung shuffles through the door frame. There’s no door. It’s just open. Soonyoung finds it quite funny. Any customers could just walk into their kitchen. He commented on it once. Seokmin had just said: _“My granddad sometimes just invites strangers in for tea. It’s not even a marketing ploy. He’s just nice. He wants everything very open. He’s just that kind of person.”_ Soonyoung had believed him.

Seokmin turns around, and the sun is on his face. He grins. “Hey! You’re awake.”

“Am I?” Soonyoung jokes. He hesitates before he walks forward to Seokmin and rests his chin on his shoulder, feeling his hair against his cheek. Now, this is something he’s been dreaming of. And it’s all so natural. He’s completely calm about it. It’s true. He’s just standing all pressed up to Seokmin’s bad, looking at him frying eggs, and he’s never felt more at peace in his life. His chakras, his aura, his whatever, that shit, it’s a state of complete sereness.

The radio’s on. Seokmin has it on one of those channels which only plays songs from the 70s and 80s. Right now, Boney M’s _Sunny_ is on. Boney M’s _Sunny._ There’s a song.

“Sun, _Sunny,_  and Sunny Side Up,” Seokmin says. He smiles at his own joke.

Soonyoung pinches his waist. “Five out of ten. Try harder."

“Cocky asshole,” Seokmin replies.

And from the radio comes a crackled, _“Sunny, thank you for the smile upon your face…”_ Seokmin, he’s singing along, and actually keeping up with all the key changes.

Soonyoung presses a kiss to Seokmin’s shoulder, before letting go of him and sitting down by the table. Naturally. Completely calm. As if he’s done this a million times before. He asks if Seokmin’s grandfather is here and, God, now he’s suddenly sounding so formal that he grimaces at the vocabulary. Seokmin doesn’t notice. Or, he doesn’t care. He shakes his head and says, “No, he left to go see his friends down the pub. Yeah, at 11 a.m. Got his best suit on and everything. So, I don’t really think he’s going down the pub.”

“Summer romance, him too?” Soonyoung says, and watches Seokmin put two slices of toast in the toaster as he simultaneously sings along to _Sunny_ and then slides one of the fried eggs onto a plate next to the stove; all in this one fluid movement. Look, if that were Soonyoung, someone would’ve ended up dead by now. “I like that. There’s no age limit.”

Even though his back is turned to Soonyoung, he can see Seokmin’s smile stretching over his face. “Yeah. Me too.” Soonyoung never wants to stop kissing him. And looking at him. Never.

When everything’s done, they eat their eggs on toast, sitting next to each other by the table, knees touching. There’s a newspaper next to Soonyoung’s plate. Seokmin’s grandfather gave up halfway through a crossword, it seems. “ _‘Giggling nervously’_ – 8 letters. What’s that? Go on, Seokmin, you’re the budding writer. Time to shine.”

Seokmin looks over. There’s a smear of orange egg yolk on his mouth. “Starting with ‘t’? Tittering?” He concentrates on the page. “No, then it doesn’t add up with ‘match’ on Down 56. Could it be ‘twittery’? Oh, it matches.”

Seokmin looks back at Soonyoung, smiling, and their faces are so close. Seokmin kisses him, but not too long, because their eggs would get cold if they did. But after they’ve finished breakfast, Soonyoung presses Seokmin against the counter and they stand there, flushing and squirming and sighing under each other’s touches; sun directing finding its way onto their faces, burning his hair the way the sun does in the summer. Seokmin, he jumps up on the counter somewhere between, and Soonyoung stands still pressed to the counter and continues kissing him without a break, all tongue, all soft, small, new sounds of pleasure. Seokmin’s hands find their way first to the back of Soonyoung’s neck, and then to his hair, tugging lightly whenever Soonyoung bites on his lip or puts a little extra pressure somewhere on his body.

Then Soonyoung starts sliding his hands down lower, and Seokmin pauses for a second. “Wait.” Soonyoung snaps his eyes open and throws hands away. Like he’s been burnt. Seokmin continues, “No, it’s fine.” He laughs at the expression on Soonyoung’s face. "But, let’s go upstairs. You’re sweating like a pig in the hoodie. I can feel it.”

In the end, he borrows a t-shirt of Seokmin’s. It’s a hand-me-down from his granddad with the words _Atomkraft? Nej tack!_ on. Seokmin explains that it says, _Nuclear power? No thanks!_ on, and that his granddad actually got it in Sweden, and that it sounds better in Swedish because it actually sort of rhymes, unlike the English version.

“I like it,” Soonyoung says, trying it on, and this time Seokmin doesn’t turn around when he changes. He even looks at him. Non-discreetly. “Vintage.”

“Sure,” Seokmin says, and pulls Soonyoung onto his lap, kissing the living daylights out of him wearing a t-shirt with an anti-nuclear power message on. Hips. Waists being roamed. Torso. Hair, ears, lips, fingers. They map each other’s bodies. Maybe that’s just a beautiful way of saying that Soonyoung gives Seokmin a handjob. He feels Seokmin trembling beneath him – sighing and making titillating, tiny gasps and other noises. Shaking, sweating. “Mhm,” Soonyoung says, kissing Seokmin’s neck. He has this thing for necks. Especially Lee Seokmin’s. He just has a thing for Seokmin. “You don’t know how fucking _long_  I’ve wanted to do this.” 

Seokmin laughs. “That’s nice. But, get off, baby. I have to clean up.” 

Soonyoung rolls over to the side and flops down on the bed, raising an eyebrow. “‘Baby’?”

Seokmin flushes. “What?”

“No, I like it,” Soonyoung says. “Actually, I think I could get hard again thinking about you saying that. Say it again. ‘Baby’.” He puts his hands behind his head and smirks. “Please.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Seokmin says, slapping his leg, ears glowing red. “Prick.” He leaves the room to go to the bathroom, and when Soonyoung calls for him to not take too long, he calls back at him to _read a book or something!._  So, Soonyoung picks up one of the books on his desk. They’re now lying in orderly piles on his desk. When did that happen? 

“Any recommendations?” Soonyoung yells.

Seokmin turns the sink tap off for a few seconds. “Marquez’s _‘Light is Like Water’._ It’s my favourite short story. It’s in _Bon Voyage, Mr. President_. It’s only like, five pages long.”

So, Soonyoung reads it. It _is_ really good. Soonyoung, he loves bizarre stories. This one is. It’s great. 

Seokmin returns to his room, with a pair of mom jeans on and combed hair and a toothbrush still in his mouth. He says something like, “What’d you think?” but with the toothpaste still there it sounds like, “Whawd ywu fink?”

“Good,” Soonyoung says, because he’s been lying this summer, just to please Seokmin, and now he’s not lying. “I really like the ending.”

“Mhm,” Seokmin says. He goes back to the bathroom and returns after spitting out the toothpaste and swilling his mouth with water. “So, any plans for today?”

Soonyoung thinks for a few seconds. “I should probably go home. At least, for a while. Maybe we can meet up later on in the day?” Seokmin nods, and he grins. For no reason. “I was supposed to meet up with Wonwoo, I think. Wait, nevermind. Not my parents. It’s Sunday, right? They’ll be at church anyway. Why don’t you get your friends, and we can all go and do something together? That would be something.”

Seokmin sits down by his desk, and turns the chair to face him. “Maybe? I’ll ask Chan and Seungkwan, but I never know with them. Seungkwan, he could be in like, Michigan, in the USA, or like, New Zealand for two weeks and only mention it briefly afterwards.”

In the end, after multiple calls for their respective best friends, it turns out that everyone can make it. They decide on going out to ice cream together, since, as Chan says over the phone to Seokmin: _“Today’s weather. It’s like Satan personally rimming you.”_ Soonyoung’s going to love that guy.

And at one o’clock ish, Seokmin sets out a bowl of water and some food for Gabriel before they set off on their bicycles. The streets are completely empty – no one is foolish enough to go outside at the literal hottest time of the day. There’s just them, cycling along on the road since Ebu doesn’t have any cyclist lanes. When they get into the centre, though, that’s when it starts getting more hectic. Soonyoung, he almost runs into a tram. 

When they arrive at the ice cream shop, they’re thankfully both alive. Wonwoo’s already there. Chan and Seungkwan are not.

“All right?”

Wonwoo grins really big as he regards Seokmin. “Half left.”

There’s some minimal awkwardness of introducing Seokmin and Wonwoo to each other. As if Soonyoung hasn’t been non stop talking about both of them for a good chunk of this summer. Then Seokmin’s two best friends arrive. Chan, he assumes, is the one in sunglasses and a jeans jacket. So, Seungkwan must be the one in a red and white striped t-shirt, with this obviously-dyed blonde hair flopping over his head. They’re Seokmin’s best friends. He thinks of Seokmin’s story, how they all got to know each other, and smiles. 

The five of them click together immediately. It’s almost comical. They all sit together outside on plastic chairs by a plastic table, eating ice cream and sorbet, trying to fit underneath the shade of one of those tiny table parasols. Chan and Wonwoo, they’re not alike. Seungkwan helps keep the balance so everyone doesn’t just take the piss out of everywhere. Seokmin chips in with a few comments here and there, and Soonyoung starts arguing with Wonwoo, like they always do, and Chan takes _Wonwoo’s_ side, and Seokmin places his hand on Soonyoung’s gently on thigh as Soonyoung starts snapping at Wonwoo and telling Chan he’s a madman for agreeing. As per usual. Seungkwan starts disagreeing with Chan, and pulls him back from the table to explain why he’s wrong on the matter, calmly. Seungkwan, he’s not stupid, Soonyoung notes. Even though he kind of seems like it. They fit well, those two.

As if reading his thoughts – when will _that_ stop happening? – Wonwoo says, “I have a question.” Chan’s sunglasses gleam as he redirects his attention Wonwoo. “Are you two dating?”

Chan and Seungkwan look at him with the exact same expression. It’s funny. Seokmin laughs at it, as well, and looks like he’s about to protest Wonwoo before Seungkwan and Chan turn to look at each other, sitting side by side.

“Maybe we kind of,” Seungkwan says, “are,” and Seokmin, he looks as shocked as Soonyoung feels. They are _?_

“Huh?” Seokmin’s eyes are bulging out of his head. _Bulging out of his head_. That’s an expression he’s never seen physically lived out before. Until now. “Since _when_?”

Chan shrugs, resting his sunglasses on his forehead and licking his lips. “Well, when you were off with Soonyoung, we kind of made do. Just being together. So, yeah. We’re sort of, together now.” He looks at Seokmin, making a point to cross his arms in a gesture of stubborness. One Soonyoung recognises very well from his mother. From himself. Yeah. A crossing of the arms. “But, now you have Soonyoung, so. So, it won’t be like you’re the third wheel or anything. I mean.”

Seokmin stutters, looking back and forth between Seungkwan, Chan, and Soonyoung who’s just sitting there, eating his chocolate ice cream, minding his own business. Wonwoo even more so. Seokmin eventually manages a, “You could’ve _told_ me.”

“You could’ve told _us_ you got laid this morning,” Chan snaps back.

“Chan, I will seriously kick your ass.” Seokmin burns up. Seriously. He _burns._ “I didn’t get _la_ –”

Chan says, “I know that expression. You were glowing this morning when we first saw you here.” Soonyoung stares at Chan. What a beautiful thing: to know exactly what Lee Seokmin’s feeling at every time. He’ll have to take lessons. “Okay. Maybe we’ve all just, just had our fair share of secrets this summer.”

“Yeah, _Soonyoung_ ,” Wonwoo says, elbowing him in the ribs.

Soonyoung shoots him a quick glare. “You were in on it, tosser.”

“Lies,” Wonwoo says, pensively, ignoring Soonyoung. Ignoring Soonyoung. That’s a talent of his. He eats another spoonful of sorbet before continuing: “But, maybe we all lied for a good cause?”

Seungkwan frowns. “Can you even lie for a good cause?”

“‘Course you can,” Chan says. “It’s called being a politician.”

Yeah, sure. They were all lying for good reasons. “I was lying to like, get Seokmin’s attention,” Soonyoung says. He makes a joke. “But, is that really a good cause?”

Seokmin, hand still on his thigh, pinches him gently right there. “Oh, fuck you, Soonyoung. I’m the best cause.”

“Oh, God,” Wonwoo says. “Soonyoung’s face. It’s the fucking _Seokmin-Face_. It’s new and improved.” He looks at Chan and Seungkwan, pretending to be pleading for help with his eyes. “Get used to this one, lads.” 

Soonyoung tears his eyes away from Seokmin just to roll them at Wonwoo. “Yeah. Maybe you should get used to it.”

“Mhm,” Seokmin says, grinning, and Soonyoung doesn’t kiss him because the grin makes something spark in his chest – the exact same feeling as when they touch each other. He doesn’t lean over and kiss Seokmin, but he _would._ He would. It’s okay, though, because the sparking in his chest? It’s enough. Seokmin says, “Get used to it,” but doesn’t direct his words to Wonwoo. Beside them, Chan pretends to fan himself, and Seungkwan laughs a little at Chan’s obvious display of mocking, and Seokmin’s sorbet is melting in the heat, and Soonyoung hopes that this won’t be anything near as ephemeral as summer is.

What happened to him not being a cliché? Did that him ever exist? Or, maybe everyone has a little Nicholas Sparks in them. Fuck, that sounded weird. Who even likes Nicholas Sparks, apart from middle-aged white women who cry instead of doing skincare routines? Instead: maybe everyone has a little bit of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s _Light is Like Water_  inside of them. Now, that’s something he can go along with.

“You two are disgusting,” Wonwoo says, wrinkling his nose. “I can practically read Soonyoung’s mind. And it’s putting me off this–" looking at the ice cream cone in his hand– “this fucking, frozen cream. With chemicals.”

“It’s your fault,” Soonyoung says, sing-song voice. He continues, “Shouldn’t’ve made that deal,” and Wonwoo can’t even say anything back, so he just flips him the bird.

 

 

 

In the end, Seokmin finishes his story three days before submissions to the competition. He spends those three days pacing around the room. Pacing, pacing, pacing. Wondering if it’s good enough. Soonyoung doesn’t really know how to help him, but at least he tries to calm him down. With various methods of relaxation. That’s the truth. He tries. Those three days, they’re filled with anxiety, movies Soonyoung puts on in the background as distractions, and loads of tea made by his granddad. Says it’s the best way calm down nerves. Soonyoung and his granddad, they make a good team together. Seokmin hasn’t said anything about their actual relationship, but his granddad seems to know things that no one else in the world knows, so when he smiles at the two of them in that knowing way of his, he’s not even remotely surprised about it. _“Soonyoung, that boy, staying over again?”_ he just asks, casually, and Seokmin says, “ _Yeah. He is,_ ” equally as flippantly.

And, then, in the _real_ end, Seokmin doesn’t win the competition. Well, it’s not that strange. It was a nationwide one. Not just some scrappy piano contest for only the residents of their city. For only Seokmin’s middle school. Then, ones for only his high school. But afterwards, one of the judges of the contest sends him an email saying that she’d loved his way of writing, but the story wasn’t particularly unique enough to win. So, that has to mean _something_. She’d remembered him. Something had stood out.

Seokmin wasn’t fully where he wanted to be, but somehow he wasn’t disappointed. After all his work, he didn’t feel sad. In fact – he was almost relieved. Maybe he wasn’t quite where he wanted to be yet. But he was on his way. He was on his way.

And the story? It was about two people who met through writing their names on library checkout cards, when they actually hated each other and were rivals outside of the books. Then, they, well, then they fall in love. Partially based on a true story. Except, the real story was lacking in hate, and was more about stupid, seemingly unrealistic infatuation, turning good people into assholes ever since the beginning of time.

He’d named the story _Early Summer_. Even though the story was set in the winter. Maybe, that’s what had confused the judges. But he’d done it as a tribute to Soonyoung, who he had a lot to thank for that summer. Falling in love with biking around Ebu. Falling in love with his old record player. Falling in love with jazz. _Falling in love!_ Isn’t that something?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'll try to keep up with writing lmao i just... lost motivation for a few months? and was very busy but thanks to everyone who's been helping me on along the way. i'm talking about rhhb, seoksoon net, especially my fam rin and mils, i love u guys loads. but you already know that!
> 
> come talk to me over on [twitter](https://twitter.com/greeneryrains)! but, if you STILL haven't listened to fukui's early summer, go do that first. i mean, go that Now. and, if you, for whatever reason, haven't seen whisper of the heart, go do that too.
> 
> thank you for reading, always <3
> 
>  


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